


Rabbit Trading

by Obsessed Romantic (2SFlovers)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Teen Wolf (TV), The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Character Death, Drabble Collection, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Multi, Soul Bond, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2SFlovers/pseuds/Obsessed%20Romantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay. This is my collection of stuff I got inspired to do by Rough Trade, plot bunnies I can't/won't/am too lazy to put into a longer story. Although, I do reserve the right to put these into a longer story if it turns out they fit. Basically, stuff that I am unwilling, unable, or uninspired to put anywhere else. Evil Author Day, all year 'round!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time Travel - Scott

**Author's Note:**

> This is one that was inspired by the time travel/fix-it challenge on Rough Trade. Where Scott goes back and canon is him screwing things up and someone else goes back to fix it. I don't remember who suggested that Melissa be the one to discover that canon!Scott was time travel Scott; but I went with it. Untitled for the moment. - The original plot for this involved a ritual suicide on Stiles' part to fix the 'corrections' insane future Scott made to the timeline. But my widowed step-father killed himself, and I will thus never finish this story. Or any plot that involves suicide.

-*-

 

''Hey, Mom. Gotta minute?'' Melissa McCall looked up and frowned. Her son looked upset. Massively upset. But he wasn't crying. He didn't even look like he was going to cry. She set the laundry aside and motioned him forward, concerned. He moved easily into the room and slouched into a chair. She wanted to frown, now really worried. The last person to sit there had been Isaac, and Scott had always avoided it – 'to preserve his scent' he'd said. Now, he was sitting there casually without even a flinch.

''Oh my god, who died?''

''No one's dead, Mom.''

''Who's hurt? Missing?''

“Mom!'' Her boy sighed and she tried not to gasp at the creepy little smile that flitted across his face. ''It's not....... I just have to tell you something. Something important.''

''Okay.'' She nodded, feeling frantic. Several things she'd avoided thinking about for the past few years were now clamoring for attention from where she'd shoved them aside. ''Okay.''

''I kicked Stiles out of the pack.''

''You did what?!'' Melissa barely refrained from leaping to her feet and screaming. There was a brief flash of calculation in the brown eyes; before he gave a heavy sigh and slumped forward. If she hadn't been paying attention, she never would've spotted that everything he was doing was an act. A very, very familiar act. She didn't want to think about why it was familiar. ''Why would you do that? He's your best friend.''

''He killed someone, Mom.''

''What? No, Stiles......''

''Theo said it wasn't self-defense. That Stiles kept beating on Donovan until he was dead. Maybe even a little after.''

''We're believing Theo over Stiles, now? Which one has been there for everything? Saved your life, saved.....''

''He's dangerous, Mom!'' Red flare silenced any lecture she might've delivered about him raising his voice to her. For the first time, she was actually afraid of her son. She struggled to think of another emotion before he noticed the scent. Thankfully, he seemed more focused on making his point than sniffing out her state of mind. ''He's always been a little ….. focused when it comes to people he cares about. Obsessed, even. And he's never had a problem NOT caring about people who aren't on his list. You know he wanted to kill Jackson? When he was a kanima, yeah; but killing him was the first place his mind went; and I don't think it was all about not knowing a cure.''

''Scott, are you saying you think Stiles is …... sociopathic? Psychotically?'' She didn't believe it, really. Sure, the boy had always been a little ….. intense, emotionally speaking. But this was a kid who had consistently put his life between the people he cared about and, not only physical danger; but emotional trauma. He placed others at a level of importance above himself that was, frankly; somewhat terrifying.

''I think the nogitsune knocked something loose in his head or something. He's quieter. More ruthless, and I didn't think that was even possible. He's also more manipulative. You know he's been sleeping with Malia? Do you really think she's in any kind of mental or emotional state to be doing that? I mean, she hasn't been human since she was eight. That's kind of creepy. And it's not like he's let go of his obsession with Lydia, either. Makes it even worse, don't you think? He's still lying to his Dad, too. About pack stuff, but probably other things as well. That's probably part of his inability to trust anyone, but it still sucks. I just......... I can't have him in the pack.''

''Did you talk to him? Ask him what had happened?''

''He tried to say he was just defending his Dad; but he wouldn't have just let Stiles go on like nothing happened. He would've grounded him at the very least. I mean, he was ready to arrest Kira with barely any evidence; I don't see him letting Stiles off without even a warning. Not after the whole restraining order thing. Or all the lying. Which means he doesn't know what Stiles did.''

''Okay.'' She nodded again, feeling nauseous now. It all sounded so reasonable. If she was anyone but his mother, she might have even fallen for it.

''Mom.'' He touched her knee and it took just about everything she had not to jump. ''I know you're upset. I am, too. He was my best friend.'' The hitching, in-drawn breath was as contrived as it was harsh. Too many years monitoring every tiny puff of his breathing told her that. ''It's better this way.''

''Better.'' She nearly lost it, right there; but contained the scornful tone at the last minute. ''Better.... for the pack?''

''Yeah. For Stiles, too!'' It sounded so much like an afterthought, like what he expected her to want him to say, that she bit the inside of her cheek to push back the sob. What was she going to do? ''He'll be safer. No possessions, no fighting. He'll be safe.'' And that sounded rehearsed.

''Okay.'' Melissa sighed, forgoing the nod this time. ''Okay, no more Stiles.'' She was proud of the fact that her voice didn't shake. Seeing the doubt lurking on his face, she smiled a bit. ''How am I supposed to punish you now?''

*-*

''Melissa? Are you all right? Scott's not here.''

''I know.'' She moved past him into the house, heading upstairs to his room without pause. ''Is your father here? He's still working the night shift, right? Oh, God; let him still be working the night shift.''

''Yeah, he's ….... are you okay? You're crying. Oh my God. Uhm...... I can call Scott......''

''NO!'' Melissa whirled around. Good thing, too; as her shout had caused him to jump backwards, and her grab was the only thing that saved him from falling down the stairs. ''No, don't call him. Don't call anyone.''

''Okay. Whatever you say, okay? Just..... uhm....... this isn't about the pack, is it? Because …... I don't know if Scott told you.......''

''He told me.'' She choked back the sob. Turning around again, she went into his room; relieved to find it empty. ''That's what clued me in. Well, no. I was noticing things before that, but didn't think it was anything too bad. After all....'' She smiled tearily over her shoulder at the boy she'd always considered a second son. ''…..you were keeping an eye on him.''

''I'm sorry. I don't know what happened.'' Stiles slumped into the room, dropping heavily onto his bed. The way he moved, the rasp of his voice, his body language as he rested his arms on his knees and hung his head – all of it screamed 'defeat'. Shouted of someone who had given up. Who had accepted blame and the punishment that went with it. Deserved or not. ''I don't know when he stopped ….''

''Trusting you.'' Melissa sat carefully on the bed next to him, taking his hand. ''Loving you.'' He flinched and she squeezed his hand in sympathy. She had to get this said, though. Hurting him was hard; but he had to know. He had to know so that he could think of something, because God knew she couldn't think of a damn thing. She inhaled sharply and let loose the first part. ''Being Scott.''

''He's still......'' He looked up at her, intelligent eyes flickering over her face. She met his gaze, letting him read her expression. Letting him reach the conclusion it had taken her all day to admit, even with the evidence right there in front of her. ''No. When? What? Is.....'' He swallowed hard, his breathing speeding up as terror rose behind his stare. ''...it can't be.....''

''It's not the nogitsune.'' She squeezed his hand gently to keep him from sliding off the bed as he collapsed in relief. She watched the muscles in his arms twitching as the shakes his fear had started were aborted. Wishing she could let him recover entirely, she began the next part before she lost her nerve. If that happened, she'd lose everything. Everyone would lose everything. ''It's Scott.'' She raised her free hand when he opened his mouth. ''Just not our Scott.''

''What do you....?'' Melissa pulled the usb drive from her pocket. It hadn't been hard to find. Tucked underneath his porn stash, where any teenage boy with a single mother would hid something he didn't want her to find. Right where she'd found that nearly empty box of condoms; what seemed like so long ago. No, the hard part had been realizing what it was. The truth of what was stored on it, when she'd finally gotten the nerve to take a look. She turned the hand she was holding over and pushed the drive into Stiles' palm with a sense of relief. ''Melissa?''

''I can't........Stiles.'' She wiped her face on her sleeve, wondering if the tears were ever going to stop. This last part was the hardest. Turning over the responsibility to a seventeen year old seeming insane, but what about her life didn't, lately? The terrible thing was, he was the only one who could possibly come up with a solution. The only one who could and would do literally anything necessary to put a halt to the downward spiral of recent events. ''Stiles, I can't.......'' Oh, God, not now. She couldn't break down now. She had to be strong. She had to reassure him, support him.

He deserved at least that much, given what she was asking, what was likely to be asked, of him.

''You think I can?'' His voice was raw, cracking with stress. But his fingers were closing over the drive, accepting the burden she couldn't handle. Her tears slowed at the evidence she'd been right. That her trust hadn't been misplaced.

''I know you can.'' She ignored the shocked look. Gathering him into her arms, she held him the way she'd always wanted to hold him. Like a precious, beloved son. ''You're the strongest person I know, Stiles. You can do this.'' She rubbed his back, hating herself for doing this to him. Hating that she had to do this to him. ''I need you to do this.'' He pulled away from the embrace. She allowed it, but kept her hands on his shoulders. The last thing she needed was to have to chase him down and start this whole painful thing over. ''I need you to save Scott.''

''Scott.'' His gaze firmed up and he sat up a little straighter. He looked towards the wall he'd built – red strings and photographs and post-its and printed pages of information. She almost felt like smiling at the evidence that he was still the same boy, still so much like his father; despite everything. He seemed to draw strength from it, somehow. ''Save Scott. From the Doctors. From Theo.'' The last name was spat with a massive amount of venom; hatred she hadn't even heard directed at Jackson, when the boy had bragged about having sex with Stiles' beloved Lydia. ''Right?''

''No.'' She felt the tears building again and shook him gently until he was met her eyes again. Through her watery vision, she saw the confusion and, understandably, just the tiniest bit of disappointment. She could relate, but he had to understand the truth of things. Maybe if he did, it would soften the blow when he read what was on the drive. Lord, she could've used some softening. ''Not from them.''

''From who, then?''

''From himself.''


	2. Teen Peter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted a rough draft on Facebook a while back. Here's the improved version.

 

*.*.*.*

 

Peter stretched, feeling more invigorated than he'd expected. He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge some of the dirt. It was only partially effective. He padded over to where his nephew's jeans had ended up, going through the pockets for a hotel or apartment key. Scowling, he tossed the denim back onto the floor. Nothing. Either Ms. Martin had brought him here without letting him grab his keys or, unfortunately more likely; Derek was squatting somewhere in an attempt to hide from the Argents. Snarling at the thought of his family's murderers, he took a few moments to get control of himself. It was both easier and more difficult than he expected. Easier, because he no longer had the Alpha power surging through him and clouding his judgment. Running around killing people. Wholly justified, yes; but not really his style. Their suffering had been over far too soon for the depth of their crimes, after all. The difficulty he was having in controlling himself was puzzling. He hadn't had this much trouble reigning in his wolf in years.

 

Sighing, he briefly considered using the young lady's keys to drive himself into town. Bad idea all around, he decided. And not just because of his current naked state. No, it was the younger Hale's likely reaction that meant he needed another idea. He didn't want to have his resurrection reversed so quickly just because the boy took offense at his 'transgressions' against his mate. Not that Derek would admit the girl was his mate anytime soon. He would have to make sure to deliver that information at an opportune moment. Perhaps when they were shouting at him for manipulating the banshee. Which bit of data was also something he could use to his advantage.

 

Speaking (or thinking) of advantage; he needed to get cleaned up and clothed. Preferably with something approaching style. There was no reason not to use every weapon in his arsenal to complete his balancing of the scales of justice. And as offensive as his scent was; he'd rather utilize the many benefits of an attractive appearance. Which, of course, meant a shower and access to clothing. Somewhere close, so the chances of his being arrested for public indecency were lessened. Thinking of the law brought to mind the Sheriff. Not the one he remembered, Carmichael; but the new one, who seemed to actually be both competent and possessing of integrity. Stilinski. Whose offspring was so very, very aggravating. Oddly enough, he was more incensed at the brat's refusal of the bite than being set on fire.

 

Shaking his head again (this time to clear his thoughts rather than his hair), the werewolf headed for the stairs. Rummaging through the house was as depressing as he'd expected; not the least because it was obvious that Derek had been squatting in it up until a few weeks ago. _Honestly_. He had to have a talk with his nephew about the difference between laying low and being a martyr. Not to mention how stupid it was to spend any time in the ruins of their family home. Setting himself up to be that easy of a target wasn't going to help anyone; least of all their fallen pack.

 

Resigning himself to the musty jeans and t-shirt he'd unearthed (they hung a little looser than he thought they should – apparently the boy had really put on some muscle) he went back to the basement to cover the couple with the space blanket he'd found in Ms. Martin's purse. He'd been planning to wrap it around himself for his walk, but now didn't have to test his sarong-making skills. Pity Derek's boots weren't the right size. He wasn't looking forward to the trek as it was – bare feet was just going to make it that much worse.

 

Returning to the upper floors, he made sure there was sufficient debris in the path to the basement to alert the two below to any intruders. Let them sleep as long as they could. Hopefully long enough for him to get himself together, in several senses. He was having a great deal of trouble with depth perception and balance, just to begin with. He hoped it was just hunger and not some sort of side-effect of using a spell based on a not-yet formed bond of mates rather than one founded in sacrifice. The level of pain the boy would've endured for that one, however; had made him plant the idea for the Tantric ritual in the girl's head. By the simple method of saying it wouldn't work, of course. _Teenagers._ So eager to prove themselves. It made them so easy to maneuver to his advantage.

 

*.*.*.*

 

He was really starting to get worried. Traveling from the preserve had been just as rough as he'd imagined. More so, to be honest. Depth perception, coordination, balance, sensory control – all of it was vacillating wildly with no apparent cause. Also troubling was that the trip took a lot longer than he'd thought it would. Shrugging off his concern, he checked the school parking lot. Thankfully, there was no game or parents conference, and thus no one to see him enter the vault. He would've used the entrance in the locker room (more discreet, closer to the woods), but the cameras Argent (he resisted the urge to go running off, to **kill** ) had installed didn't seen to have a blind spot. The odds that there was a security system of some sort attached to the school doors were pretty high, given his previous visit. No need to risk getting caught breaking and entering when there was a better way. He opened the vault with a pang of grief so strong that he actually teared up. Or was that the dust? _Dust,_ he decided, sneezing. _Definitely the dust_. There was several cleared areas and, from the dried blood spotting them; he guessed Derek had hidden here after Peter had attacked him that night, before emerging to flee the scene. Worryingly, he was actually feeling guilty about the incident.

 

Shoving aside the concern, he emerged into the locker room with a sigh of relief. _Finally_. Searching the lockers took some time; but the toiletries and clothing he discovered were well worth it. Given the preponderance of plaid, baggy pants, and heavy chemicals (Axe? Disgusting); he'd been relieved to find a locker with some clean (the level of filth these boys lived in was disturbing) jeans and a very nice cotton henley. It also contained good-sized containers of inoffensive (organic?) shampoo and soap. The locker next to it even had a designer leather jacket and shoes in his size. Cheered by his finds, he snagged a pair of scissors from the Coach's office and began to set himself to rights.

 

Tossing the empty bottles into the trash after his fifth cleansing (graveyard dirt was apparently persistent stuff), he shut off the taps. He'd probably used all the hot water, but he was feeling much better. Still having perception and balance problems, but he figured a good meal would solve that easily enough. He wrapped a towel around his waist, picked up a comb, and started trying to untangle his hair. After the second one snapped, he snatched the scissors and took the worst parts in hand; clipping them out carefully. That done, he set the scissors down on the sink and put a towel around his shoulders to catch hair from the next step. Wetting the third comb, he used another towel to wipe the mirror clear of steam so he could see his attempts to give himself a haircut. Looking up from the sink, he started to raise his hands to his head. The clatter of the comb and scissors (at least he hadn't dropped them on his foot) hitting the floor was distant and unimportant. What mattered was the image in the glass.

 

The image of a sixteen year old Peter Hale.

 

After an eternity, he braced both shaking hands on the sink and exhaled.

 

''Well.'' His voice was pretty steady, given the circumstances. He was impressed. 'That's going to make things rather …... difficult.''


	3. Trading Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little alteration to a scene in the pilot. This chapter has a title! Whee!

*.*.*.*

 

''Hey, Lydia.'' Jackson smirked at her, standing aside in the doorway; but making no actual invitation. She pushed aside her irritation and walked in, frowning at his bare feet, sweats, and t-shirt. He was going to be watching a lot of The Notebook if he'd deliberately neglected to tell her that his parents didn't care what she wore to be introduced to them. Actually, she should probably make him watch it anyway. The shoes she was wearing weren't the most comfortable things in the world. They looked fabulous, though. Shame he probably wasn't going to notice. ''Glad you're here.'' As soon as the door was closed behind her, her boyfriend put his arms around her and started kissing her. Pleasant, but not all that great. She really needed to work with him on his technique. Speaking of which, his hands were roaming.

 

''Jackson.'' She was bringing out that sharp tone more and more these days. Ever since he'd started the year by claiming they'd slept together over the Thanksgiving break. She'd told him it wasn't going to happen at all until he'd apologized and made it up to her. He hadn't even started yet. Which meant that his current actions weren't something she was inclined to let him continue. She moved out of his embrace and glanced around. To her relief, no one was there. Come to think of it, that was a little odd. ''Where are your parents?''

 

''My parents?'' He scowled at her. What was his problem? It was a legitimate concern. ''My parents aren't here, Lydia. They went to a fundraiser for one of my mom's charities.'' He sounded massively annoyed, as usual; and also genuinely confused as to why she had thought his parents were home. A chill went through her and she stepped back to avoid his attempted hug. It was a good thing he hadn't offered to take her coat, now she wouldn't need to retrieve it before she left.

 

''You told me to come over because it was important. That we were going to the next level in our relationship.'' She crossed her arms, tapping her foot as she waited for him to realize his mistake. It felt, lately, like she was doing a lot of waiting for Jackson. Waiting for him to apologize. Waiting for him to introduce her to his parents. Waiting for him to be worth all this effort. ''Jackson!''

 

''What? I invited you over so you could give me my Christmas present.'' He smiled at her. Honestly, it was more like 'leered' at her. She put one hand in her purse, glad she'd chosen an outfit that accessorized. ''I got yours.'' Lydia was actually surprised when he reached into his pocket rather than into his sweats. She was thinking about crossed signals and possibly forgiving him (after sufficient groveling on his part, naturally) when he held up a key. It was obviously a house key and she gaped in disbelief. He hadn't even bothered to wrap it or hang it on a ribbon or any attempt, really, to make it even remotely romantic. ''It's to the side door, the one near my room.'' He extended it in her direction. She took great pleasure in smacking it out of his hand, not even looked to see where it landed. She hoped it broke something. ''Shit! What the fuck, Martin?!''

 

''You never had any intention of introducing me to your parents, did you? It was all to get me into your bed.'' She was too angry for tears, thankfully. Although those would undoubtedly come. She felt like an idiot. Her mother had warned her about choosing a boy based on how popular or attractive he was. She'd chalked it up to bitterness over the impending divorce, but now..... ''Why did you start dating me?''

 

'' _You_ asked _me_ out, remember?'' He shrugged, unconcerned by how upset she was. He was rubbing his hand and glaring at her. ''Seemed like a good idea at the time. Now that I know you're such a frigid bitch, though; I can get a girl who's actually **hot**.'' He sneered at her and she reminded herself that if her palm still stung this much from slapping his hand; punching him in his smug face was probably a bad idea. She was really tempted, though. ''Let yourself out, we're done.''

 

''Good.'' She snapped at him, walking over and yanking the door open. She was disappointed when he moved so it didn't hit him. ''I was tired of pretending you don't kiss like a dog. A dead dog. With breath to match.''

 

''Right. Whatever, bitch.''

 

''Goodbye, Jackson.''

 

Slamming the door felt really good. She pulled out her phone as she walked to her car. He was an idiot if he thought he was going to tell everyone _he'd_ dumped _her_. He'd only been mildly popular when she'd started dating him. Being good at sports and having a flashy car would only do so much. She was the one with the real social power. The one who threw the great parties, who dressed fashionably and had a nice car (without shoving her wealth in everyone's face, jerkoff), who had the highest GPA in their class. The one who, most importantly, knew how to manipulate the gossip to her advantage. The only reason his claims of intimacy had gotten anywhere is because she hadn't been expecting him to pull such a crass move. She wasn't giving him the benefit of doubt anymore. She logged in and changing her Facebook status to 'single', adding a 'thank god' in the comment section. Wiping at her face, she posted a list of Jackson's faults (including '4 inches' and 'slobbers when he kisses' for spite) to her page. Getting into her car, she ignored the text notifications. She didn't want to get into a wreck. She'd miss out on all the humiliation her ex had coming to him at school on Monday.

 

*.*.*.*

 

Striding up the walk to school, Lydia felt powerful and confident. She'd spent the weekend crying over her error in judgment, tearing apart the flaws in romance movies with her mother, chatting with her social circle on the phone (making fun of Jackson, mostly), and compiling a list of criteria for a new boyfriend. She wasn't going to sit around and be miserable and lonely because some jock had passed up the opportunity to be hers. She was going to find a guy who meet **her** needs, not the expectations of the school's social hierarchy. She was just thinking that it would probably be easier to ship a guy in from a nearby college (not the community college, though, she had standards) when she heard what one of the nerds she was passing was saying.

 

''…..since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey, Lydia, you look........'' She whirled around and he stopped talking, gaping at her in shock. He looked vaguely familiar. He was probably in some of her classes. Since she was taking mostly advanced placement, that was a point in his favor.

 

''Yes?'' She put a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow at him. '' 'I look.......?' '' He was kind of cute, actually. _Let's see how he handles this before thinking he's a candidate_ , she chided herself. Looks were several slots down on her list. Jackson had taught her what kind of guy a pretty face could hide.

 

''Uh, you look.....'' He was thrown, but recovering quickly. He didn't look around at the gathering crowd, or even look behind him to check with his friend. Another point. ''Transcendent. You look transcendent.'' Well, well. SAT level vocabulary. Another point. His gaze went up and down, but didn't linger and it didn't feel half as smarmy being looked up by the other males in the student body. Point. ''Usually you just look regal and amazing, but today.......'' He sighed expressively, causing his friend to smile off to one side. Okay, so apparently there was a crush. And the friend was in the know. She wasn't sure if that was a point or not. ''Something different with your hair?'' He tilted his head and she waited with bated breath. Their fellow students seemed to be in a similar state. Would it be crude? Something about her weight? Makeup? ''New shoes! Those are new, right? I don't know what kind they are, but they're new?'' He looked so desperate for confirmation, she actually nodded. That was unexpected. She hoped he wasn't gay. Good thing Danny was in her home room. ''Yes! They look great, by the way. Or make you look great. Not that you don't always already look great!'' The way he was stumbling over himself was kind of charming, actually. Maybe half a point for that. ''Which isn't a surprise, I'm sure. Jackson must tell you all the time.....'' He didn't know. Which meant he wasn't part of her usual crowd. That might be a good thing. Expanding her social circle outside Jackson's friends could only be to her benefit.

 

''I broke up with Jackson. For several reason, not the least of which is that no, he didn't tell me how amazing I looked. Ever.'' The crowd started murmuring as those in the know clued in their less-connected compatriots and the guy (damn, he was so _familiar_ ) made an aborted move to put a hand on her shoulder.

 

''Are you okay?''

 

''You did hear the part where _I_ dumped **him** , right?''

 

''Yeah, but you put a lot of time and emotion into that relationship.'' He reached out again, touching her arm briefly. Like he was scared anything other than a gentle brush of fingers would set her off. ''So, I repeat the question: are you alright?'' There was a collective sigh from the watching girls. She was tempted to join in. He was pretty sweet. _I really hope he's not gay_ , she thought.

 

''I'm great, actually. It was like ….. dropping a metric **ton** of dead weight.'' She gave her hair a practiced toss and smiled. Given his actions thus far, she was considering him a very viable candidate. The bell rang, making him (and most of the watching students) flinch. He looked disappointed as his friend started tugging on his shirt. ''Walk with me.'' She turned and headed for the door, pleased when he scampered (really no other word for how he moved) after her. His friend shook his head and smiled, trailing along at a distance. Half a point for good taste in friends? She'd have to see. Meanwhile..... how should she phrase it? ''I'm afraid I've forgotten your name.'' There. That was nice of her. Made it seem like he hadn't been just another one of the faceless mob.

 

''Stiles. Stilinski?”

 

''Your parents named you Stiles Stilinski.'' No way. That was going to cost him a point, if it was true. She couldn't be associated with the kind of cutesy people who named their kid something like **that**.

 

''My parents named me something incredibly Polish and difficult to pronounce, actually. So, Stiles.'' She opened her locker, mentally giving him back the point. She was a little curious as to what his name actually **was** ; but that was six or seventh date information. If he lasted that long. ''Okay. I know that you are a strong and independent woman of the new millennium who doesn't need a man for anything.....''

 

''However?'' She turned and saw the way he was eyeing her books. Not her chest or ass or any of her other attributes. Her books. She looked at them herself, trying to find a correlation between what he'd said and …... Oh. ''Are you asking to carry my books, Stiles?'' He was really, really sweet. It was becoming vital that she talk to Danny before she was charmed any further.

 

''Only if you want them to be carried. You are woman and run the world and.... '' He scrambled not to drop anything as she dumped the materials for her first few classes in his arms. He not only didn't lose anything, he stuck an elbow in her direction as she closed her locker. ''May I have the honor?''

 

''You may.'' Someone giggled, but she ignored it. What did she care what they thought? She was Lydia Martin, and they weren't. ''You play lacrosse?'' It wasn't a deciding factor, but she did enjoy the game. Having her new boyfriend (candidate, he's still just a candidate, remember) on the team would go a long way to minimizing the drop in her social standing. Which she only cared about for the power it gave her to do what she wanted. Well, **now** she only cared for that reason. And now was what mattered.

 

''Not really? I mean, Scott and I.... my best friend, Scott McCall? We spend a lot of time on the bench.'' Well, that wasn't great. She'd still have an excuse to go the games, though. That was something. And 'on the bench' didn't necessarily mean 'not a good player'. Jackson had manipulated, threatened, and outright bullied anyone who didn't kiss his ass into not trying for first line. His insecurity (which she felt could only be measured using higher math) about his place on the team meant that he only wanted players who made him look good, who would pass him the ball to make the winning shot even if they had a better position. ''Scott has asthma, so he may _say_ he's making first line, but I'm just hoping he doesn't push himself into an attack.'' He'd lowered his voice, obviously concerned for his friend.

 

''I hope not.'' Lydia tilted her head, considering. From what she'd seen of him so far....... She was pretty sure the reason he was on the bench had more to do with his friend's illness than his own abilities. ''I'm considering you a viable candidate for 'Lydia's boyfriend', Stiles.'' She stopped at the doorway to her home room and turned to face him. He looked like all his Christmases had come at once. She smiled, pleased at the reaction. ''So, if Scott does well on the field; I expect you to match his skill level. After all, if he doesn't need your company on the bench; you won't need to hold yourself back, will you?'' She took her books back and patted his cheek fondly. She'd never understood what 'gobsmacked' looked like, until now. ''Meet me at my lock for lunch.''

 

''As you wish.''


	4. Reaching the other side.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the ways Allison could come back. And not just her, either.

*-*-*-*

Stiles cradled Lydia against his chest. The hits just kept coming, didn't they? Sure, they'd beaten the nogitsune – at it's own game, yet – but the price........ The price was so very, very high. Ethan's whimpering sobs felt like blows, each one a slap of blame to his ears. He followed the banshee down the steps, feeling more than hearing Scott, Isaac, and Kira trailing along after them. When they reached the group, the surviving twin's head snapped up, snarling. Stiles forced himself to meet the devastated and angry gaze, blazing blue.

 

''What the fuck do _you_ want?'' It was unclear whether he was referring to the former host, or the strawberry-blonde. He was just about to answer, to shield the girl from whatever the wolf would say in his grief, when he saw it. 

 

The Oni's sword, lying on the ground. 

 

'' _Oh my God_ .'' He moved over as quickly as he could and snatched it up. Several people tensed, but he ignored it. Things he'd dismissed as fantasy, as tricks the demon had played on him, as lies; were now possible facts. ''Oh my  **God** .'' His hands were shaking as he shifted the blade to cut his palm. A musical voice started cussing at him in what he assumed was French. He couldn't help it, he laughed in relief. ''Allison. Oh my God.'' 

 

''What did he say?'' 

 

''Did I bite the wrong Stiles?'' 

 

''The nogitsune fell to dust. Real Stiles wouldn't do that, Scott.'' 

 

''I caught the thing.'' There was a pause, he saw Isaac brandishing the jar out of the corner of his eyes. ''Didn't I?'' 

 

''Why are you bringing up my daughter?'' Chris growled at him, crossbow twitching upwards. He laughed again at Allison's critique of her father's grip. ''Nothing about this is funny!'' The older man came forward, obviously intending to smash him into the nearby wall. He held out the sword, balancing the hilt on one palm and the flat of the blade on the other. 

 

''Allison.'' He saw confusion on every face, even Kira's, and sighed. ''Do you know how the Oni's blades work?'' 

 

''They're swords, idiot.'' Derek's tone was condescendingly sharp. That hurt. That was hurtful. He was going to get an apology for that; after all was said and done. ''They 'work' pretty simply.'' 

 

''Yeah, but no. Jesus, none of you ask the right questions. Like, ever.'' He held out the balanced sword again. ''Cut your palm on it. Just a little.'' He saw doubt replacing the anger on Chris's face. ''Please. This is a good thing. Swear on my Dad's life.'' There must have been blatant sincerity in his expression, because the last Argent standing slung the crossbow's strap over one shoulder and reached for the blade. No expression became a storm of emotion the minute the edge parted skin. 

 

''Nous protegeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se proteger eux-memes.'' Tears clouding the blue eyes, the hunter fell to his knees as he whispered, cradling the weapon to his chest. Isaac came forward, reaching out, and Stiles moved an arm to block him. 

 

''I don't know if it's safe for any more people to link up.'' He got a disappointed snarl, but Scott's puppy eyes were harder to look away from. Stiles knew he had to get things moving, but it wouldn't hurt to give Allison's father a moment to pull himself together.

 

''How did she get in there?'' Trust Lydia to be the one to finally ask a relevant question. 

 

''My brother.'' Ethan looked at his twin, then over at the Oni remnant with hungry eyes. ''Is he......?'' 

 

''No.'' Okay, that was harsh. He totally deserved the growly face the former alpha gave him for that. ''He's still here, though.'' 

 

''I don't sense him.'' Lydia looked around, as if she could will Aiden to appear simply by accepting the possibility. ''Why don't I sense him?'' 

 

''Still not asking the right question.'' He knew the smile he was wearing was creeping people out, and pissing others off; but he couldn't help it. He could help, he could finally help, could actually set some things right; and it felt  _amazing_ . ''The question is: why do hunters cut werewolves in half?'' Chris was out for the count, muttering in French; so everyone looked at Derek, who looked both angry and hurt. It was a complicated expression, conveyed mostly through his eyebrows. 

 

''Psychological warfare.'' 

 

''No. Je.... Okay, maybe a little. And it's definitely a fatal blow, if the hunter is strong enough.'' Chills raced over him as he remembered the beating he'd taken from Grandpa Psycho. He shuddered, pushing the ghostly sensations away. ''But, really; it started as a way to make sure the wolves didn't heal/''

 

''He's  **dead** . He's not  _going_ to heal, Stilinski.'' Stiles nodded, mostly to keep the grieving beta from jumping him. There was only so much slack he was willing to cut the guy, after all. Getting tackled or slashed would exceed that limit. 

 

''Peter.'' Ah, Lydia. Now she was thinking. He smiled wider at her and tried not to flinch when she stepped back. Great. Ten years wasn't going to be enough if she was terrified of him. ''But that won't work, the moon.......'' And so much for her thinking. Of course, she was really good at logic and stuff that made sense; and this magic shit was everything but logical and sense-making. 

 

''You didn't answer the question.'' Kira slid her sword into the scabbard at her back, unconsciously graceful as she moved. He transferred his smile to her and was relieved to see her smile back. At least one person wasn't scared of him. ''How do the Oni blades work?'' 

 

''They sever the bond between the soul and the body.'' Blank looks. Seriously? He was speaking clearly, in English and everything. ''How slow or fast it works depends on the Oni's instructions and the severity of the wound.'' Still blank. It was a good thing he loved this group so much; because their inability to figure things out was massively frustrating. ''What's so confusing about this? None of you...... '' 

 

''Why isn't Allison severed?'' Scott asked, moving past him to put a hand on Chris's shoulder. Chris flinched and seemed to realize he had an audience. He stood, holding the sword comfortably at his side. Everyone was looking at Stiles. Oh, right. Scott had asked something. It was even a relevant something! He was so proud. 

 

''When the nogitsune twinned us, there was still a bond between us. Mostly so he could drain me of power and life, feed on my pain; stuff like that.'' 

 

''It went both ways?'' He nodded. So proud, really. Scott was following along beautifully. Experience with Stiles' thought processes? Or being a True Alpha? Probably the former. ''But......'' Puppy eyes shot him a guilty look and he could practically hear the rest of the question. Yeah, definitely the former.

 

''Why didn't I use it to stop him?'' No one could meet his eyes. They were all thinking it; justified or not. Except Derek, who looked a little sympathetic. If there was anyone who was familiar with people loading you down with unrealistic expectations that they themselves blocked you from meeting; it was that guy. ''I  **did** . When they stabbed Allison.'' 

 

''You told the Oni to put her soul into the blade, instead of severing it completely.'' He nodded and Chris moved forward again, handing the sword off to a surprised Kira. Stiles was just as surprised, wondering why he was going to slammed into a wall for doing something good. He was even more surprised when the hunter threw his arms around him a hug. ''Thank you.'' Patting the man's back awkwardly, he shot 'save me' looks at his friends. No one moved. Mostly they looked like they wanted to laugh. Bitches. Finally, the hug of uncomfortableness was over. Thank  **God** . 

 

''How do we get her soul back into her body?'' Bless Scott. No, seriously. Re-focusing everyone meant that the previous fifteen seconds would never have to be mentioned again.  _ Ever _ . Awesome. ''And fix Aiden?'' Ah, there was his almost-brother. He really needed to figure out why the True Alpha's ability to care about others seemed to come and go. For now, though. Positive reinforcement time.

 

''Again with the relevant questions! You are on......'' he saw Derek tense''......the spot tonight, Scott. Magic, of course.'' He waited. This time, his friend didn't follow; although his head was tilted to show he was thinking hard. Yeah, the guy had been half puppy  _before_ he was bitten. Still was, to be honest. ''The spark?'' He motioned to himself and saw comprehension flow over the majority of his audience. 

 

''Doing this is gonna take more power than flinging around some mountain ash.'' Isaac was on his list. Okay, so he was already on there for bro-theftiness; but now? Oh, now he was on there for being a pessimistic little buzz-killing bitch. Didn't he remember what Deaton had said about belief? This bullshit wasn't helping. 

 

''Power.'' Derek stood up, turning the full force of those hetero-chromatic eyes his way. He tried not to blush. That was a little more difficult than usual, but he managed it. Barely. ''I asked this question, just never got an answer.'' 

 

''What question?'' Kira was obviously confused. Poor kit. She had to feel like she'd been playing 'catch-up' since she got here. After all this was over, he needed to make sure their group (pack?) was all on the same page in regards to relevant information. It would go a long way to making the next crises easier to deal with. And there would be one, he was sure. No way would their lives just go back to 'normal'. Although, come to think of it, what was 'normal', at this point? 

 

''Why did the nogitsune choose Stiles?'' Derek asked. Everyone nodded or looked to someone who had to explain. Scott, however, was chewing on his lip. Uh-oh. That was not a good sign. That particular gesture meant his bro had thought of something he was sure no one was going to want to hear. 

 

''Scott?'' 

 

''It's just.....'' He looked guilty, again, and Stiles got it. He nodded and Scott relaxed. Bromance communication. Gotta love it.

 

''Why didn't I use it?'' 

 

''If you have enough power to heal the dead........'' Ethan was being really snarly. Guess he was trying not to get his hopes up. Which Stiles could understand, he could. He just didn't didn't like the tone of sarcastic disdain the guy was using. 

 

''I didn't have access to it until I died.'' 

 

''The ice-bath.'' 

 

''Exactamundo, buddy.'' 

 

''But......'' 

 

''Why didn't Deaton notice? Why didn't one of you tell us you'd gotten an upgrade?'' Lydia crossed her arms at him. Ah, the old 'explain or suffer' glare. He hadn't experienced it first-hand; but Jackson had always started stuttering when it showed up. Funny as hell.

 

''You were dead before the nogitsune escaped. How did it get in if you have so much power?'' This habit of Isaac's to bring down the mood (however relevant his queries) was really getting old. He needed to go count his scarves or something. 

 

''You can't use a weapon you don't know you have.'' Chris pointed out, earning Stiles' forgiveness for … that thing they were never going to talk about. Or think about, if he could help it. 

 

''Especially if someone convinces you it's all in your head.'' Apparently, this was a bridge too far for Scott; because he'd no sooner finished the comment then he had an armful of True Alpha. He wasn't sure which of them was trying to comfort the other, but they clung together for a good long while. Long enough for Derek to get impatient. 

 

''The longer we wait to do this, the harder it's going to be.'' Hey, Sourwolf almost sounded concerned about him. He was touched. In the head. But he'd never forgive himself if he didn't mention it. 

 

''We need to get all four bodies to the Nemeton. That's the best place to tap into ….'' he waved a hand. He didn't see any way to put it that wasn't Harry Potter terminology (which were a level of geek he wasn't admitting to) or World of Warcraft references (which no one else would get). 

 

''Four?!'' He didn't know who'd shouted the loudest, but that was some nice convergent harmony on the shock and confusion. Stiles gave them a nine for it. Russian judges, what could you do? 

 

''Yeah, four.'' He waited, but this time not even his best bud was following him. ''Werewolves souls are bound by the pack. So long as there is one pack member living, they can be anchored back into their bodies.'' Realization hit and Derek....... Derek looked torn between howling for agony or for joy. Isaac ….. he hadn't seen that look on Isaac's face since he'd come out of the tunnel to find their archer still and cold in her first love's arms. ''Provided they haven't been autopsied, or cut in half, or....'' he hesitate briefly, but he needed to make sure their former Alpha understood the limit. ''….. rendered to ash – you can get them back.'' 

 

''Are you sure you have that much power?'' He could forgive Lydia her doubt. He could. She was, after all, the only one of them with a true understanding of what he was saying; having been the one to pull Peter Hale out of the depths of hell. If anyone knew how much this would take, it was his strawberry-blonde goddess. 

 

''Now that I know it's not a lie or a trick bandage-boy is trying to pull?'' He went over and knelt on one knee next to Aiden's body. Ethan made a noise of protest. Stiles looked up, his vision strobing as he  _**believed** _ as hard as he could. This was going to work. It had to. And not just because it would convince everyone to let him attempt the others. No one should have no one; and that's what Ethan would have if this didn't work. Which it would. Do, or do not. There is  **no** try. ''Let's find out.'' 

 

He slammed one hand onto the living wolf's chest, the other coming to rest over the wound in the twin's body. Their bond was the best bet to draw the soul home. Feeling his way by instinct and powered by the determination to make this work; he forced the energy to obey. It was pretty much like trying to ride a tornado. He fought for control, shoving all the excess power (so much, way over the line to too much) back into the earth. Stored there, he could access it later; God knew he'd need it. With a final pulse, everything clicked into place and he howled in victory. He howled, and his fri..... his pack joined him; even the hunter raising his voice to the sky. He made the noise part of what he was doing, focusing his will. 

 

And, with a gasping cough, Aiden woke up. 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Soul names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stole the basic idea for this from a post (Farmbunnies? Minion HQ?) where someone suggested that, in addition to your soulmate's name, you also get your enemy's name. I expanded a bit, changed a little, and wandered a massive amount. Hope it entertains.

-*-*-*

Stiles always knew his Soulmarks were different.

 

Not because he'd had them since birth. Lots of kids were born with their patents and/or siblings names on their tiny, tiny forearms. You got the names a year before you met the person, when 'eye meets eye'; whether or not you were old enough to read, speak, or see: so it stood to reason the majority of babies manifested names soon after birth. Most faded (usually during puberty, sooner if there was abuse) to a pale, scar-like appearance. Sometimes this was called 'thinning' referring to the lessening of the bond or 'fading' to reference the name going from some shade of brown to white. That Stiles still had his fathers name (his mothers shifting to black with her death, one of the worst days of his life _**ever)**_ and his brother-in-all-but-bloods name in dark contrast to the pale skin of his arm didn't make him _weird_ or _clingy_ or a big _girl_ (like that was a **bad** thing?), Jackson, you _**bag of dicks**_. It just meant that he had good, solid relationships with the people he cared about. Seeing Melissa's name come in sometime around his twelfth birthday had caused a lot of tears in both the Stilinski and McCall household; but he accepted the deeper relationship with his best friends mother with more calm than anyone expected, even himself.

 

The weirdness didn't come from his 'heart-bonds' being on his left arm, either. Even though the majority of the western world had their 'heart names' on their right, 'favored' arm and the 'foe bonds' or 'hate names' on their left – several people still had their names present as what most would consider 'reversed'. Science said that this was due to being left-handed or ambidextrous. Hollywood claimed that it was the sign of a more romantic, sensitive nature (Jackson brought this up **constantly** , the twatwaffle). Spiritualists, especially from the East, stated that the 'heart names' were _naturally_ on the side of the body closest to the heart. Stiles used that explanation; when he wasn't busy pointing out to the idiot that his best friend, Danny Mehealani, had said that 'Jackson Whittmore' was on his _left_ arm.

 

He wasn't even weird for having two soul-mates. Watching 'Lydia Ariel Martin' swirl elegantly onto his wrist at age seven was a high point – only getting higher when, age thirteen, he **finally** convinced her that she would lose more popularity by rejecting her soul-mate than by dating a 'loser' like him. Not to mention that he didn't want her to change and give up science club or stop going to mathletes competition, like Jackson and the other jocks did. He thought the clincher had been when he'd referred to himself as 'sapiosexual' and didn't try and define the term for her – naturally expecting her to know that it meant 'attracted to intelligence'. He'd freaked out a bit, granted, when 'Derek Sebastian Hale' scrolled onto his skin just as freshman year was coming to a close. He was distracted from telling his girlfriend right away by Scott's excited flailing over the 'Allison Marie Argent' that had appeared on his wrist. Caught up in the second hand enthusiasm, in a happy fog for his best friend; he hadn't noticed how quiet Lydia was when he drove her home. He noticed the tears, though, as she threw herself into his arms as soon as they reached her room and sobbingly confessed the _name_ that had come in after lunch. He'd panicked until she wailed that she still had his name and held out her arm to prove it. Only the soul-bonded could read their names on their partners arms, after all. Stiles supposed it was to prevent anyone from faking a bond. His 'ethnic' monstrosity had been in the same place as always, but there had been another name under it. The _same_ name he'd newly acquired just before Scott had scampered up with his news. Derek Sebastian Hale. They'd laughed in relief, made out, talked about how to work him into their lives, made out some more, and finally Googled for their third. There had been panicked research into soul-mate law when they'd found out that, yes, Derek was one of **those** Hales and, _oh my God_ , he was _**twenty-one**_. Which meant he'd be twenty-two to their sixteen when they all met.

 

Being part of a triad didn't make him a freak, or weird, or selfish, or greedy, or fickle, or a slut, or anything Jackson kept coming up with to call him – _oh my_ _ **God**_ , what a douche-canoe, no wonder the guy was on his 'foe' arm.

 

What was weird? Was that Stiles saw his soul-names in **color**.

 

Since this was often classed as a sign of insanity, he hadn't told anyone, not even Scott, and certainly not his girlfriend. His father only knew because he'd come running in at age eight to crow about how the smart, pretty new girl in class was his future wife - and he knew because her name was blue, not green like Scott's and his parents', and certainly not red like Jackson's. His mom had flipped the fuck out, and only his father's quick thinking of convincing Stiles to say he'd _imagined_ seeing the names in color had kept him from being institutionalized by Claudia Ann Stilinski. He hadn't told his dad about how his mother's name had faded to white after that, how the shifting to black had been almost a relief after two years of seeing the stark evidence that his mother didn't love him any more. He was still kind of fucked up about it.

 

He shoved that aside, though; because it was spring of sophomore year. Almost a year to the day the blue letters had added themselves to his 'heart' arm. He'd gained 'foe' names over the past few months, as well as a 'friend' mark. Jackson Whittmore had been joined by Alan Deaton and Talia Hale. Lydia said she'd gained Talia Hale on her 'foe' arm and the woman's brother, Peter Ian Hale, on her 'heart' arm; just as he had. She turned out to have Melinda Morell as a foe name instead of Alan Deaton, though. They both wondered why a veterinarian and a guidance counselor were 'foes', but put it aside. Derek and his Uncle were returning to Beacon Hill after a mysterious six year absence. No one had any idea what had caused the rift in the Hale family (his dad had banned him from the station after his attempt to access records from that time - rude) or why the two men were returning **now** , unless it was just because Derek had finished his degree. Architecture. He and Lydia had been impressed by the designs and artwork on their mates website.

 

Lydia was calm and confident about the imminent meeting, but Stiles was a mess. Anyone would be thrilled to have someone like her as a soul-mate. He certainly was. Brilliant, gorgeous, strong sense of self and impeccable style. What wasn't to love? Him, almost certainly. He was weird, and gangly, and spastic. He had ADD. He drooled in his sleep, according to Scott, the traitor. He had moles and freckles and funky hair when he let it grow out of the buzz cut. He'd caused his mothers death and stressed his father out on a regular basis. He was afraid to sleep for fear he'd wake up and Lydia's name would be white or worse, green.

 

=*-*-*

 

''Staring at them won't make you meet them any faster.'' Peter chided his nephew. Derek started and went back to assembling the bookcase with a scowl. He sighed and returned to hooking up the entertainment system.

 

Moving to Beacon Hills hadn't really been in his plans. He hated the place with a passion, and not just because of his sisters refusal to admit when she was wrong. Beacon Hills was the place his soul-mate had rejected him. Rejected him and called him a monster, just because he was a werewolf. The pain of that day was indescribable and lingering. He still woke in a sweat, some nights; arm aching from where the blue had faded to angry purple before shifting to red. He'd lost himself in his wolf, spending most of his time running around the woods and howling like a pathetic child. Having his nephew join him, hearing his sobs and howls as he revealed that 'Kate Argent' was written on his right arm, that he was losing the pack names, the family names, from their places on his left...... Well, that was enough to snap him out of his self-indulgent tantrum. But Talia hadn't wanted to listen to reason, refused to see that Deaton's advice was based in his desire for her, not concern for the pack. Casting Derek out because he had an enemy's name on his foe arm was **stupid**. Better to keep him close, so that the pack could figure out the danger _together_ , as they were _**supposed**_ to. But no, her Emissary had advised the ostracization; so it must be _Derek_ who would bring danger to the Hales, and therefore _Derek_ who had to leave.

 

Derek who had to lose everything.

 

Everything except his uncle, Peter.

 

He'd found a not-very-bright Alpha who was only too willing to eliminate the Argent woman. The hard part had been convincing Ennis to use human methods, to make it look like an accident. He'd sold it as not wanting to have the rest of the family down on their packs like a plague, which was true enough. His primary reason, however, was that he hadn't wanted Chris to come looking for answers. It was hard enough knowing the man was _happy_ with the family he'd chosen over his **mate** ; but to have him actively hunting Peter down.....

 

Peter wasn't strong enough to face _that_ experience.

 

More than strong enough to take Ennis down, to take his Alpha power from him. Power he'd refused to turn over to Talia, as pack protocol demanded. He reminded her that he had just as much right to their territory, to the rank of Alpha as she did - that he had only accepted her as his leader because she was older, not necessarily (demonstratively) wiser. She'd told him to leave, which he had no problem with doing; but he'd insisted that he get custody of Derek, **and** that they would be able to return, if they so desired. Since she was already sharing the territory with Saotomi and her little group of hidden wolves, she really couldn't refuse him that caveat. Nonetheless, he really hadn't intended to come back to Beacon Hills to **live**. A few months to access the family vault, to insure Derek had the choices and knowledge his heritage entitled him to, and they'd be gone. That had been the plan.

 

Before the names.

 

Before Derek had burst into his room, weeping with joy, waving his arm around, and laughing about how he couldn't even pronounce one of the names.

 

**One** of them.

 

Lucky bastard, he remembered thinking, before glancing down at his own, red-marked arm.

 

Where a blue name nearly glowed from beside Derek's green letters.

 

His reaction had been humiliating, really. What kind of idiot has a panic attack over getting a second chance? After he'd calmed down (literally) and scrapped his nephew off the ceiling (metaphorically) of their New York condo; he'd actually been fairly excited. Re-bonding was rare, very rare (despite what Hollywood claimed) and he was supremely lucky to be one of the chosen few. Luckier even than the younger Hale, with two-thirds of his triad awaiting him. They'd gotten a little giddy, breaking into Peter's precious stock of werewolf-strength Napoleonic brandy. The two men had congratulated each other, hugging and toasting each other until well after midnight. Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, they'd sobered up enough to hit upon the idea of using Google to at least narrow down the search. Putting all three names in to triangulate the likely meeting place was only smart; but it hadn't been easy to see that the only place Lydia Ariel Martin, Janek Stilinski, and Janek's son, Przemyslaw (the boy should sue for abuse, honestly) Stilinski had was Beacon Hills.

 

Shit.

 

Arranging their return was difficult. He made sure his calls (screaming matches) with Talia were at times Derek was out of the apartment, dealing with other matters – like telling the twin betas they'd found abandoned and Omega in a federal preserve on their way to New York that the pack was moving. Peter knew that his purchase of a new phone for his nephew was seen as the attempt to keep the boy's mother from calling him that it was, and not the congratulatory gift that he'd claimed. They both pretended otherwise, of course. No reason to get all sappy and emotional. No reason to let his sister know just how much she hurt them both with her intransigence and ego. Hopefully, the recent additions to his little pack would distract her from looking too closely into their return until it was too late to interfere. He added a prayer to Fenris to his hope, while he was engaging in useless sentimentality.

 

''Kitchen is unpacked.'' Aiden reported, breaking his meandering as he passed by with a pile of broken-down cardboard. ''Ethan's almost finished putting the office computer together.''

 

''Probably be done by now if he wasn't stopping every five seconds to gaze at his name.'' Derek snorted. That the boys had gained names that same night had come as a surprise; but learning that Daniel Mehealani and Malia Sharon Tate were in Beacon Hills was not as shocking as it should have been. It was as if some force was pulling them all together. He only hoped it was a positive force.

 

''What, like you?'' The beta smirked as he shifted his grip to open the garage door. ''How long have you been putting that same bookcase together? Two hours? Three?''

 

''Shut up.'' Peter smiled at the red crawling up his second's neck and resisted the urge to check that his re-bonded name hadn't faded on him. Chris's rejection had left scars, obviously. Scars, and some hard to resist impulses. He pushed his sleeve back down quickly, checking that his nephew hadn't noticed his slip. Now wasn't the time. There was time enough to obsess over his second chance when they were done and he was alone in his room, where he could stare at the blue lettering to his heart's content.

 

Where he could put his brilliant mind to the question of just how a werewolf went about seducing the Sheriff – re-bonding was so rare it wasn't going to be easy, that was for sure - of the county where his estranged sister lived without it ending in tragedy. For him or for his three young betas. He hadn't had the best of luck in this moon-benighted town, but he was going to be far more careful, this time. With his heart and especially with his pack. He was going prepare, and plan, and possibly even scheme.

 

Nothing was going to stop him.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. If he knew now what he knew then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the second chances challenge on RT this April. In three parts, all from Scott's POV, and first two are to establish background changes for the third. Also, sorry if I'm using the term 'sama' incorrectly. My bad.   
> Au of the first couple episodes of season four.

X-x-x-x-x-

 

''Hey.'' Stiles gave a 'sup' nod to the newest arrivals. Scott tried not to let it get to him. It seemed so _wrong_ for Stiles to be without his jokes and humor. To not make a snarky or sarcastic comment.

 

''What are we doing here?'' Aiden sent him a questioning look and Scott nodded to his best friend to indicate the summons was his. This seemed to annoy the other 'wolf, because he scowled angrily. ''Seriously? Why are we still listening to this useless....?''

 

''Hey!'' Allison stepped forward, snarling; her eyes flashing and claws glinting. Everyone took a step back from the newly-created were. Everyone except Isaac, who moved close, murmuring to her in French. The blonde turning out to have selected _that_ as his language credit had actually been more startling than the revelation that Scott's ex-girlfriend was his beta's mate. Having the bite work – his first love still being _**alive**_ – had made the pain of it more than bearable.

 

''Show proper respect to my Emissary, Aiden, if you want to be part of this pack.'' Scott snapped, flashing his crimson eyes at the former Alpha. He wasn't going to tolerate any more infighting. That was the kind of behavior that had directly lead to Erica and Boyd's deaths; which had been as much his fault as Derek's, if he was going to be honest. He wasn't going to make those mistakes again. _Those who do not_ _learn from history are doomed to repeat it_. The older boy snarled for a second, before lowering his gaze and looking away; body folding in slightly as he yielded.

 

''Emissary? I thought Deaton was the Emissary.'' Lydia stated, throwing an apologetic look to Stiles, who hadn't moved since Scott had arrived; let alone the rest of the crowd.

 

''He's my boss. The balance of authority between us........it just wouldn't work. True Alpha or not, I think he'd try to give orders, instead of advice, like an Emissary is supposed to.''

 

''Mom noticed that, after we beat the nogitsune; Stiles' aura was different.'' Kira smiled at the pale boy, who grimaced, but didn't smile back. He seemed to waiting for them all to hash things out before he began to explain why he'd asked them there. Something else Scott noted as a troubling difference in behavior. When he thought it was important, Stiles could be every bit the Alpha he was still learning to be.

 

''Well, yeah. He's no longer possessed.'' Malia observed. She seemed to be uncomfortable with Stiles, keeping at least two people between them at all times. Any hope that his friend hadn't noticed died when the boy flinched at the sound of her voice. It was a small flinch, but years of companionship let him spot the minute expression.

 

''There were spells on me. We think Morell did it.'' Stiles wasn't looking anyone in the eye, but at least he was talking. ''Spells to keep my 'spark' dim, so I couldn't use the power. Spells to make people doubt me, no matter what I said, or what proof I had.'' Well, that explained why the Sheriff looked like he wanted to shoot somebody. It also answered the question of why the father didn't fully trust the son, when the two males were so close otherwise. Actually, the Sheriff looked like he wanted to skin someone alive, not just shoot them. ''Deaton helped a bit, but he's a little too cryptic to teach me much. I'd last a week, tops, before I'd snap and …....'' His friend trailed off uncomfortably, no doubt thinking the joke a little too close to home for everyone's taste. True enough, but Scott didn't like the indication that his all but brother still carried the guilt from the actions void!Stiles had taken. ''Anyway, it wouldn't work.''

 

''I can make some calls.'' Chris suggested, putting an arm around his daughter's shoulders with an expression so full of gratitude, it was a little embarrasing. The shift she went through from growling werewolf to smiling girl was jarring. Looked like Allison's focus was her family, not Isaac. Or was Isaac considered a part of her family, since he was her mate? He'd have to ask Derek, when he got there. It couldn't be long – they were gathered at his loft, after all. ''I know some practitioners who have a more ….. pragmatic approach than your Druid.''

 

''Appreciate it.'' Sheriff Stilinski nodded at the other adult, face a trifle guarded. From what Allison had told him about events he'd missed; he supposed that her father wasn't going to be forgiven for attempting to shoot the other man's son in the face. Given what he knew about Stiles ability to hold a grudge, he didn't see that changing anytime soon.

 

''Is that it? Is that why you wanted us here?'' Ethan's tone wasn't as hostile as his brother's, but he looked just as unenthusiastic about being there.

 

''Deaton and I were checking the Nemeton for anything else that could be dangerous. Noshiko was burying the jar, using the shards of her tails for further containment. Not sure how that works.'' Stiles bent down and picked up his backpack, putting it on the table. Everyone tensed, but he only pulled out a book. ''We found a diary. From the Emissary before Deaton, who was pretty much an asshole.''

 

''He was.'' Everyone spun around to watch Peter stroll into the room. Chris and the Sheriff both had hands on their sidearms. Lydia had stepped closer to Aiden, taking his hand for comfort. Kira shifted on her feet, obviously confused by the sudden tension. Allison was snarling again; this time no one was trying to calm her. Malia scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, looking away from the pack. ''Is there a reason we're discussing a not-very-missed dead man in my nephew's loft?''

 

''Son.''

 

''What?''

 

''Derek is your son, Peter.'' Stiles touched the book, then wiped his clean fingers on his jeans, shuddering. His expression was disgusted, but not as disgusted as everyone else's, especially Peter's. Later, Scott would find it amusing at how completely _thrown_ the man who'd bitten him looked. Later. Sometime when he wasn't trying to wrap his brain around what his best bud had just said.

 

''He.... I.....''

 

''Don't worry. Talia wasn't his mother.''

 

''He isn't old enough to be his father.'' Lydia interrupted. Then she tilted her head to one side, questioning. ''I mean, is he?''

 

''Apparently, his father didn't want a gay son. So he asked his Emissary to 'fix' it.'' One long-fingered hand gestured and everyone looked at the book in horror.

 

''That's not something you can 'fix'. It's not something that needs to be 'fixed'.'' Ethan looked extremely squirrely. He backed up a few steps, blatantly checking his exit lines. ''I won't be …''

 

''Dude, how much of a bunch of assholes do you think we are?'' Scott cut in before the guy could panic completely. He clapped him on the shoulder, ignoring the violent twitch and surge of fear-smell. ''We would never try and change you like that. Make you less psychotic – sure thing. Totally. Try and make you straight? _Dude_.'' He snorted dismissively. ''If we were that kind of douche-bag, Danny wouldn't talk to any of us.''

 

''I think that diary is more evil than Voldemort's.'' Kira observed. He shot her a grateful look for lightening the mood. Added a nod and smile when he saw the grin on Stiles' face. The first time there'd been any expression – any natural expression, that belonged to the boy, not the fox – that wasn't guilt or worry in …. shit, it had been almost a _month._

 

''You're not wrong.''

 

''I thought it was a girl.'' Peter gave Lydia a pointed look, then slid his eyes sideways to Malia.

 

''The second one was. When the 'fix' started to wear off when you were at college – they called you back and ….. did it again.'' Peter flinched, he actually flinched, and Scott found himself in the strange position of feeling sorry for someone who was basically Satan in a v-neck.

 

''Well.'' Despite the affectation of calm, Scott could tell that the older Hale was still profoundly unsettled. ''And you decided, discovering this, to call a pack meeting? Without one of the people whose business it actually is?''

 

''I thought you were the clever one, Peter.'' There was some kind of undercurrent to Stiles' comment, but he was distracted by the photos and evidence bags his buddy was pulling out of his backpack. ''I came over to tell Derek first, to see if he wanted you to know.'' They all gathered around, looking at the photos of the loft. Photos that showed the aftermath of carnage – bullet casings, broken furniture, blood spatter and, most disturbingly, bodies. ''This is what I found.''

 

''The Calaveras.'' Chris pointed at one body, finger hovering over the image. ''They came here looking for a 'she-wolf'. I didn't know who they meant.''

 

''Cora.'' Peter sighed, bracing himself on the table. Everyone was giving him space, keeping their distance. Most likely because of the way his eyes had flared blue at Stiles' news, and hadn't yet returned to a non-glowing state. ''When they had Derek and I prisoner; they were asking about Cora.''

 

''No. They weren't looking for Cora.'' Stiles handed a bag holding a shotgun shell to Peter, giving Chris a significant look when the man tensed. Scott wondered what was going on. If the hunters hadn't been looking for Cora, who else was there? Kira was a fox and Malia a coyote – there weren't any she-wolves in his pack. Well, except Allison; but if they'd been here for Allison, he thought that Chris would probably have killed them long before they'd thought to question Derek.

 

''Who else is there?'' Peter asked, taking the bag with obvious reluctance.

 

''Take a whiff and find out.'' Stiles challenged, crossing his arms and looking the most like himself he had since before the semester started. Before they'd started losing pack members to not only their inability to get along, to act like _pack_ ; but to Deucalion and Jennifer's insanity.

 

''You already think you know.'' Peter made no move to open the bag. Scott didn't blame him. Just based on body language and what emotions he could smell – he wasn't sure he wanted to know either.

 

''I hope I'm wrong.'' Stiles nodded at the bag. ''Please, Peter. Prove me wrong.''

 

There was barely any sound, even breathing, as the elder wolf opened the bag, inhaling slowly, closing his eyes. A tremor passed through him, a second; and then the half-shifted form Stiles called 'Crinos' roared, throwing the bag and its contents across the room. Everyone jumped back as he grabbed the table and picked it up over his head, hurling to towards the the windows. With a crash, the glass shattered, raining down on them all. Fortunately, it broke the momentum of the piece of furniture enough that it crunched to a halt at the edge of the balcony, instead of falling over to smash some pedestrian. Checking that everyone was as all right as they could be, Scott turned his attention to the raging and howling figure that was pacing bloody footprints across the floor. He roared, putting all his willpower into the Alpha inside him. It wasn't enough to snap Peter out of it, but it did bring the other werewolf to a halt.

 

Then he spoke and Scott wished he hadn't done anything.

 

''Kate.''

 

-x-x-x-x-

 

Their camping trip had been a complete success. He should've known, really; that that meant things would go to hell once they got back. But it had really been going so well. Knowing going in that they were looking for Kate, who had kidnapped Derek for whatever lunatic reason, had helped. Having Chris and Stiles make the approach, with Chris' knowledge of hunter tactics – gas masks were so useful, even if they tasted like pencil – had helped even more. And having Danny relay their disbursement of the Calaveras Cayman Islands account (proving it through his linkup to Ethan's phone) had been a stroke of absolute genius. _Everyone_ had congratulated Stiles on _**that**_ idea. Finding out Braeden was still alive had made Isaac happy; but not happy enough to go along with her stupid idea to start the approach to the ruined village so late they'd reach the location after dark. No one wanted to go in blind, when they knew neither the territory or what they'd be facing; aside from an insane ex-hunting were-whatever. Peter said she didn't smell like wolf, but wasn't sure what she'd become, just that it wasn't kanima. Stiles had actually fallen to his knees in over-dramatic thanks for that one. Scott had taken one look at the mocking expressions on the twins faces and joined him. It felt good to goof around with his friend again. It had turned into a pack-bonding thing, because Allison, Lydia, and Isaac had followed his lead. Chris hadn't gotten on his knees, but he'd crossed himself in gratitude. They'd laughed together and it had lent an air of hope to their preparations. A good nights sleep, massive amount of coffee and breakfast burritos in pre-dawn light; and they'd set out in their rental SUVs, arriving during the beserkers' sleep cycle. The one down side had been that Kate had, somehow, known they were coming and been gone when they got there. All in all, however, it had been a rousing success – even if Derek was Scott's age, now.

 

Breaking the news of his family's demise to the apparent amnesiac had gone about as well as anyone could expect. Which was to say, not at all. The only thing keeping it from being a _complete_ disaster was that Derek hadn't hurt anyone when he'd run off to meet his 'girlfriend'. God, the thought still made him want to throw up. Knowing how sick and twisted Kate had been, still was; explained so _much_ about Derek's behavior regarding Scott and Allison's relationship. So much of all his behavior, really. It had been the final straw for Chris, learning that his sister had seduced a teenager in order to slaughter innocent people. He'd removed himself and Allison from the pursuit, unwilling to kill his own family even as he agreed that she needed to be put down. Scott had sent Isaac to stay with them, more out of concern for the human Argent than any belief that their quarry would try and make contact. He knew how difficult control became in the midst of emotional upheaval. He didn't want the archer to lose it and do something she'd never forgive herself, or him, for. He was regretting that decision now, as the beserkers Kate was using as pack beat the crap out of him and his friends.

 

Scott howled, hoping the twins weren't too distracted with their significant others to hear him. He saw Kira's sword go flying and threw himself in front of her, knowing she wasn't able to heal quite yet. Agony exploded across his back and his second howl was all about pain rather than a plea for help. Distantly, he heard Isaac and Allison responding; but knew they'd be too late to save him, the kitsune, or their coyote friend. Desperately trying to move, he could only lay and watch as the hulking brutes moved in his direction.

 

Suddenly, there was a dark blur behind the bone-encrusted figures. With a growl, young Derek launched himself onto the back of one of the beserkers, slashing his claws into the narrow space between the skull 'helmet' and collar guards. Twitching, it fell to the ground, sending its attacker rolling off to the middle of its three brothers. Snarling, the teenager spun and kicked, striking the gaps, the vulnerabilities in the bone armor. Kira retrieved her sword, re-joining the fray as he heard the familiar offbeat cadence that was Stiles' heartbeat approaching. Pushing himself, he was able to roll over, but knew the trauma to his back was healing too slowly to make a difference any time soon.

 

''Down!'' Stiles shouted, waving with one hand as the other tossed some kind of powder into the face of one of the bone-men. He shouted something else, something that sounded Polish, and there was a sensation like his ears popping. The one who'd gotten the face-full of powder stopped moving, his bone armor crumbling to dust. His empty eyes were closing as he fell, quite obviously dead. Scott looked at his friend in horror, as he reached into a the tote that was slung over one shoulder. ''They were already dea,,, shit!'' The creature swiped at his Emissary, causing the boy to skip back to avoid the wicked claws.

 

''Stiles!” Came the angry (panicked?) cry from teen Derek, who charged forward, grabbed the attacker by some of his bone protuberances; and hurled him down the hall. ''What do you think you're doing, idiot? You're going to get killed!'' Eyes flared blue and then yellow as the born wolf blatantly resisted the urge to shake the other teen. ''Get them out of here!'' The former Alpha gestured at the wounded and turned back to the fight, just in time to see Kira tossed towards a wall. Growling, he leapt forward so quickly Scott heard Stiles gasp in awe. So quickly he could put himself between the kitsune and the hard surface; but not so quickly he could keep her from the impact entirely. Still, it made the difference between having the wind knocked out of her and having her bones shattered. Unfortunately, it also meant their strongest fighter had just been taken out of the equation.

 

''Shit!''

 

Stiles once again scrambled at his tote, obviously intending to pull his powder-trick again. One of the two remaining reached out and grabbed him by the arm, snarling into his face. Struggling to even sit up, Scott watched in horror as the beserker raised its other arm. His best friend stared into the face of his own death and smirked. Smirked, and said something else in Polish. Then he spit in the thing's eye-socket. The creature let out a scream that would haunt his nightmares the rest of his life as the bones _melted_ into the flesh underneath. He heard Malia throwing up beside him and didn't think the raction was due to the gash in her leg. The horrifying abomination that was left fell to the ground with a last, whimpering cry and a disgustingly _wet_ sounding thud.

 

''Behind...!'' Even as he shouted his warning, there was a roar that drowned him out, announcing the arrival of the twins. They each grabbed an arm of their opponent and pulled, straining as the thing tried to free itself. Just as he was about to suggest they try snapping its neck rather than pulling its arms off, there was a high-pitched whistle and an arrow planted itself into the chest-plate. An arrow with a flashing light on the gray cylinder near the tip.

 

Releasing their grip, the two betas on probation dived for the more vulnerable members of his pack, pushing them to the ground. He was pleased to see they sheltered Stiles as well, putting themselves between the obviously imminent explosion and everyone else. In the narrow confines of the hall, it was louder than he honestly expected. Coughing, he tried to peek over Aiden's shoulder to check on the results. Unbelievably, the thing was still on its feet. It roared, most likely pissed at the damage to its armor and the pain it was probably in. If the things even _felt_ pain. There was another high-pitched whistle, and the arrow buried itself so far into the beserkers chest that he heard the 'tap' of the head striking its back-plate.

 

Slumping backwards, he listened with half an ear as Stiles complained about Ethan shoving him into Malia's lap while he tried to give the coyote first aid. She was protesting the need for any help and snarling at everyone. Kira's heartbeat was steady, but the slow rate indicated unconsciousness at the least. He got Aiden to check on her and congratulated Allison on her aim, knowing she could hear him even if he couldn't see her. Isaac and Chris came charging around the corner, the human carrying a gun that looked like something out of one of Stiles' movies. He tried to wave them off, but the fact he was sitting on the floor near a pile of his own blood got him everyone's attention. There was almost a fight over who got to confirm his injury was healing before he hit on the awesome idea of distracting them by asking about Derek. Which is when he got the bad news.

 

Derek was still a teenager.

 

X-x-x-x-x-

 

Scott couldn't believe how well things were going. He tried not to be too happy around Allison or her father, though. As thrilled as everyone was – most especially Peter, the man was nearly giddy – that Kate was dead, she had been their family. But the Argents had surprised him, saying that they felt no sorrow for the loss of the person she'd become, that they'd grieved for the person they'd loved months ago, when she'd died the first time. What Peter had be-headed in the Hale vault had been a shadow wearing the face of someone they once care for. He'd been relived, and turned his attention to other matters. Isaac hadn't taken the twins' inclusion into the pack well. He couldn't keep them on probation, though; not after they'd proven themselves during the whole beserker thing. They'd been helpful during the nogitsune problem as well; even if they'd only been operating from self-interest at the time. Aiden had even apologized for his hostility to Stiles, explaining that he'd been jealous over the other boy's friendship with Lydia. After he'd gotten over the shock of someone being jealous of _him_ , Stiles had taken Isaac aside. Scott didn't know what the pack's Emissary had told his beta, but it had worked. Granted, the boy wasn't as friendly with the two former Alphas as he was with the rest of the pack, but he did accept them _as_ pack, and that was all that really mattered.

 

Stiles himself was doing so much better than anyone expected. Chris' contacts in the magic community had turned up the best of all possibilities. A grandmother, whose descendants hadn't shown any interest in the supernatural, let along a gift for magic; had been thrilled to learn of Stiles and his spark. That she was Polish was only icing on the very awesome cake. She'd moved in next door to the Stilinskis and started bossing everyone around. Not in a bad way, just in a really _grandmother_ way. Since most of them didn't have grandparents for one reason or another, it just seemed easier to go along with her plans; most of which were stuff like Movie Night and Pack Dinner. Like her neighbors, she had a first name that gave 'tongue-twister' a whole new definition and so everyone just ended up calling her 'Granny'. Even Peter called her such, kissing her cheek whenever he wandered through. She usually swiped at him and laughed, calling him a flirt in a fond tone.

 

Ever since Peter had been cleansed by Stiles and Granny, he was much calmer and way less …... okay, he was still creepy. Somehow, he could sneak up on anyone in the pack, no matter how closely they were paying attention. He could also give someone this _look_ that not only judged them; but asked why they were inflicting their existence on him. Not that he was around much, taking weekly trips out to San Francisco, where Malia was undergoing therapy with a supernatural psychologist. Someone who could work through her trauma with her without her having to lie (Mr. Tate), someone who didn't have a hidden agenda (Morell), and especially someone who could help her integrate into human society without her misreading the relationship (Stiles). Scott had wondered if Peter was even part of the pack, which had gotten him the _look_ , followed by a heavy sigh _and_ an eye roll. Then the man had explained that he was obviously the pack's Loremaster; the one who kept the knowledge safe, who was responsible for teaching the pack members how to control and utilize their abilities. Lydia still didn't trust him, for which Scott couldn't blame her; but she no longer threatened to set him on fire. Well, no more than once a month, anyway.

 

Kira's parents hadn't wanted to let her join the pack, but she showed up at meetings and for dinner and on movie nights; so she was kind of their unofficial member. She was also his mate, something her mother got kind of tight-lipped about. Scott wasn't worried, because he and Mr Yukimira got along great. The man was totally a Scira shipper, per Lydia. Whatever that meant. The best thing had been when the guy had introduced him to Saotomi, the other Alpha in the area; and he was learning one heck of a lot from her. The pack teased him about his Alpha-crush on the woman, but whatever. Saotomi-sama was awesome. Nearly as awesome as Kira, who was so friendly he wondered why she hadn't made any friends before him. She got along great with everyone in the pack, especially Stiles. The two of them could often be seen with their heads together, planning something that usually turned out fun. Scott was fighting a campaign of resistance against their determination to get him to watch the Star Wars saga – mostly for the entertainment to be had in thwarting their ever-more elaborate schemes.

 

''Attention, everyone.'' Scott turned his phone silent and looked to the front of the class, feeling his jaw drop when he saw who was standing next to their history teacher. ''We have a new student. This is Derek Hale and he.....''

 

''Sorry, Erik.''

 

''What?''

 

''My name. Dean Erik Hale. I go by Erik.'' The smile looked a lot less serial-killer without the scruff. The jacket was still leather, though. He heard some the girls in class sigh and pushed his sense of smell down. There were some things he didn't want or need to sense about his classmates; and whether or not they were aroused was definitely one of them. ''My older brother is Derek, though. That may be where the confusion comes from.''

 

''Oh. Well,'' Mr Yukimira cleared his throat and Scott would've been more amused at the proof that Kira came by her awkward naturally if he hadn't been trying to figure out what was going on. What was Derek _doing_ here? Was there a new threat? Was Gerard back in town? Had Peter regressed and started killing people? ''Why don't you take a seat?''

 

''Sure.'' The other 'wolf nodded his way down the rows of desks, coming to a stop by the empty seat next to Stiles. ''Hi.'' The smile was wider, and Scott got a sudden, unwanted nose-full of _attraction_ and _hope_ and _fondness_. ''This seat taken?''

 

''Uh.'' Oh God, he didn't need to know what Stiles smelled like when he _liked_ someone. Really, he didn't. And since when was his best friend gay? Didn't he think he could tell him something like that? What the hell? ''No?''

 

''Great.'' He sat down and class began, Noshiko's mate turning to the board to write something that Scott could honestly care less about. The True Alpha waited until the lecture hit a good stride, everyone's head bent over their notebooks, before he risked asking 'Eric' a question.

 

''What is going on? Is everyone okay? _What are you doing here_?'' He whispered it so low no human could hear it, head bent over his notebook but pen unmoving. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Derek's mouth twitch into a smirk.

 

''Everything's _fine_. Just taking advantage of my second chance.'' And then the asshole calmly raised his hand and asked a pertinent question. After seething for a little while – and taking some notes on the answer, because he wanted to get a good grade, after all – he hissed another set of questions.

 

''Dude, seriously? You get rewound and decide to go to _school_? Really?'' He just couldn't believe it. There had to be more to it, some other purpose here.

 

''I didn't get to finish, the first time.'' Okay, now he felt like an asshole, himself, for reacting the way he had. He relaxed, turning his attention to the lecture, and almost missed the teasing murmur, loud enough for Stiles to hear. ''Don't be such a Sourwolf, Scott.''

 

Stiles said when he got out of detention for bursting out laughing in class, he was going to kick 'Eric's' ass so hard he'd revert to Derek just to survive. Scott wanted to help, but he had to agree with Kira. And Lydia. And Granny. And Allison, even.

 

Sterek?

 

He shipped it.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Shock and awe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really happy with the ending, but here it is.

X X X X X X X

 

Isaac tensed as he walked into the locker room. Never had he regretted being on the lacrosse team more. The mood of the other boys was a mix of excitement and tension that didn't seem to have anything to do with the upcoming game. He moved cautiously towards his locker, unsure of what exactly he was picking up on. Was it his werewolf senses? He knew better than to take a deep breath to find out. The last time he'd done that, he'd spent two hours huddling in Erica's lap to try and block out the _memory_ of the disgusting scent cocktail that had had him puking up stuff he'd eaten in the third grade. A quick glance exchanged with Boyd told him that his pack-mate was also nervous, but the casual shrug showed that the intensity of it was all him. Which meant that, no, this wasn't due to his werewolf senses. 

 

It had to do with his Guide gifts.

 

He threw his sneakers into his locker with more force than necessary. The back dented and he covered the resulting snarl with the pull of his shirt over his head. Being a Guide  _sucked_ . It hadn't ever brought him anything but misery. When the testing had revealed his brother Cameron to be a Sentinel and himself a Guide, both of them latent; he'd been forbidden from spending time with his beloved role model for fear they'd develop an 'unnatural' bond. Which wasn't possible, due to their blood relation; but try explaining  _that_ to his **mundane** parents. Parents who had blamed  _him_ for Cam not being online when he left for the Army. As if being an active Sentinel was some kind of armor that could have saved him. Right. If that was the case, there wouldn't be any casualties among the Sentinel/Guide community at all. When his father's attempts to 'punish' him had driven his mother away, the combined trauma had brought his gifts online. Which only made it worse, really. Having a Sentinel for a son was a source of pride, of honor. Having a Guide as a son? That was a shame the old man wouldn't tolerate. If the Hales had still been around, there would still have been a Center in Beacon Hills, and he would've been moved into a better living situation instead of falling through the cracks in the system. As it was, the only positive thing he could say about it was that it taught him build  _really_ strong shields  _really_ fast. 

 

Of course, becoming a werewolf had meant he'd had to start all over again. He knew that Derek and the others were chalking his behavior up to his childhood; but it was simply that everything was **more** . More sensory input, speed, and strength. More emotions, or just more intensity to the ones he had. Add in hormones, the pack bond (Derek  _**hurt** _ , almost constantly, and Boyd and Erica were a hot mess both separately and together), and bleed-off from the people around him (teenagers were the  _worst_ ) and you had a sure-fire recipes for crippling migraines. He wouldn't be alive he didn't know how to handle pain, however. Hiding it, distracting people from it, using it – Isaac was a master of managing his own agony. The only real difficulty he had was the never-ending ache in his chest. The ache that discreet research told him came from the absence of his Sentinel, so he supposed it was more in his soul than his actual chest. 

 

''McCall!'' Coach's shout made him startle. He settled his uniform shorts in place and sat down to pull his socks on, keeping an eye on the omega. Who was staring into his locker, clenching his fists. The blond boy frowned, concerned at the mass of conflicting feelings that poured off the shorter werewolf. More concerning was that, however abnormal the other's behavior; it wasn't the source of stress filling the room, although it was adding to it exponentially. ''McCall! Are you hearing me?''

 

''Yeah, Coach. I'm listening.'' Finstock frowned. He guessed even someone as mundane and oblivious as their economics teacher usually was could pick up on  _that_ sharp of a tone. He edged closer, uncomfortable with the level of hostility he was picking up from Scott. 

 

''You have any idea where Jackson is?'' A huff and shrug, both intensely disrespectful. Everyone was watching now, the older male's eyes narrowing at the slight. He saw Boyd, fully changed into his uniform and pads, edging closer as well. Derek had warned them that Scott was going to be volatile after being ejected from the pack for his betrayal, the details of which he hadn't bothered to share. This was more than he'd expected, though, and he really wished the born wolf wasn't off dealing with - however he was dealing with, that info hadn't been shared either - the whole Jackson/kanima thing.. Taking advantage of the other were's support, he paused to remove his uniform socks. Barefoot was better than socked feet on a linoleum floor, especially if things went sideways. It also gave him a chance to strengthen his shields. Something was going to blow, but he had no idea what and whether it would be physical or not. He wanted to be prepared either way. ''This is the state championships, you know. We need every advantage we can get. Jackson...''

 

''I don't know.'' McCall snapped. No one gasped, but everyone stilled. The shock of the nicer of their co-captains mouthing off to their slightly goofy Coach was vibrating through the crowd, ratcheting the stress upwards.

 

''What about your buddy, uh....., Bilinski?'' Now that he thought of it, he hadn't seen Stiles for a couple of days. Convincing his fellow betas to stick around had taken most of his attention, or he was sure he would've realized it sooner. The human wasn't someone who usually escaped notice, after all. From the way the team was looking around, he wasn't the only one who was just now noticing the absence. Worse than that, though, was the wave of emotion that blasted off McCall and nearly knocked him back a step. Only his long practice at pretending to still be latent kept him on his feet. ''He's got a good head for strategy. Where is....?''

 

''I don't care.'' Okay, now something was officially _wrong_ . Scott didn't want to be a werewolf in the first place, so it wasn't odd for him to have done something to get him tossed out of the pack. For him to be uncaring about Whittmore, who was a towering douche, wasn't that off, either. But to not give a shit about his best friend? His brother in all but blood? Yeah, that was weird as fuck. 

 

Even weirder was how pissed off he was getting about it. He didn't even  _like_ the guy.

 

Finstock was opening his mouth to reply – from the look on his face, to give his remaining co-captain what for – when the door opened. It was like something out of the movies, how everyone turned to look in near-unison.

 

''Hey, Coach.'' The grin that flicked across the mole-bedecked face was a mockery of the other boy's usual good humor. Isaac swallowed the whimper that wanted to escape at Stiles' appearance. Pale as he had been, his current skin tone more resembled the sinks in the next room than anything human. His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips were chapped and tooth-worn, and he was twitching almost constantly. The presence of the Sheriff behind his right shoulder kept everyone frozen in place, as if they'd all been dosed with Kanima venom. The raw quality of his voice was glaring in the unnatural silence. ''I'm, uh.... I.....'' Stiles, swallowed, so obviously upset there was no hiding it.

 

''He needs to pick up his things.'' The Sheriff stated quietly. He went to put a hand on his son's shoulder, only to stop short just before contact. Both Stilinskis looked wrecked by the aborted move.

 

''You okay, kid?'' Coach asked, earning him some confused looks from his team. Isaac didn't blame them one bit. Did the guy  _look_ okay? Did the man not notice that the boy was wearing some kind of cross between scrubs and a track suit, instead of his usual flannel? He couldn't be more obviously in distress if he had a blinking alarm over his head. 

 

''I'm fine.'' Surprisingly, it was Scott who snorted in disbelief. Now people did gasp. Gasp, and start to murmur to their friends. Hurt flared across Stiles' face, his twitching and trembling increased. His father narrowed his eyes at the other boy, clenching his jaw in blatant irritation. ''I just.....'' He shuffled forward a step, only to stop short at McCall's reaction.

 

''Get back!'' The omega yanked Finstock out of the way, shoving at the others to clear a path to his (apparently former) friend's locker. Everyone was confused for the split second it took them to notice the S&G symbol on the sleeve of the trembling teen's shirt. Suddenly, a lot of things made a lot more sense.

 

''Scott.'' Tears were shining in the amber eyes, pain threading through his voice so deeply that a good portion of the team flinched. Everyone knew the bond of brotherhood that flowed so strongly between the two. A bond they were watching unravel and shatter into angst-sharp pieces. ''You can't be afraid of me. Scott.'' His voice shook on the name, leading many to avert their eyes. Insensitive as teenage boys were wont to be, no one wanted to be witnessing this.

 

''You almost killed her. You almost killed  _Allison_ !'' 

 

''I  _**saved** _ her! If I hadn't been there......!'' 

 

''If you hadn't been there, no one would have had a reason to attack the station in the first place! But, no; you just had to prove how smart you were, show off for your Dad, get in the way of.....!''

 

''He was  _killing_ people! All  _three_ of them were killers, I was  _ protecting the pa …..the _ _**tribe** _ !'' 

 

The gasp went through the room like a wave, increasing the sound of the murmurs like the surf roaring towards shore. Isaac felt like he was floating, held immobile by his shock as the rest of the boys reacted. Explanations reached him through a fog of raging, conflicting emotions. How Stiles and Scott had figured out the identity of the serial killer and went to the station with Stiles' father to gather proof. How Matt (who turned out to be said killer) turned up and murdered the deputies on shift while they were compiling the evidence.  _Epic fail on Scott's part,_ he thought,  _for not noticing what was going on. The werewolf senses, not to mention the instincts, are there to be used, not ignored_ . The ambient noise went up a notch when the Sheriff explained how the threat to him had driven Stiles not only online, but into a feral episode. An episode only made worse by the arrival of the Argents, who had appointed themselves some kind of vigilante group (it wasn't like they could admit to 'werewolf hunters', after all) and showed up to 'handle' the most recent string of murders. By the time representatives from the SGC had gotten to the station – called by a nearly hysterical Melissa McCall - it was all over. Gerard Argent and Matt Dahler were dead and several of the Argent hunters were in ICU from their attempts to protect their leader. Chris and Allison Argent were both in the hospital, albeit in better condition; also from trying to protect the family patriarch. He supposed this was how Derek had managed to capture Jackson, and why the Alpha had insisted the other betas keep their distance while a cure was attempted. 

 

''That's enough!'' Coach blew harshly on his whistle when the majority of the room ignored his yell and kept chattering. The ear-splitting shriek snapped him out of his paralysis, his skin prickling when he became aware he was still only wearing his uniform shorts and nothing else. ''Give him some room, everyone.'' He waved dramatically, shoving some of boys in the shoulder. None of whom were actually in the way. People dispersed, relieved to escape the discomfort of the situation. ''Look, Stilinski.'' Only his werewolf hearing allowed him to pick up on the soft tone that was a little jarring coming from the normally boisterous man. ''Get hold of yourself, okay? I'd like to have you back next year. The bench looks wrong without your butt on it.'' Gruff affection, followed by a back-handed slap to the bicep. From the look on the man's face, he belatedly realized what he'd done. Thankfully, the new Sentinel didn't seem to be zoning or taking offense at the physical contact. 

 

''Sure, Coach. I'll... I'll try.'' Leave it to Stiles to buck the statistics when it came to what one could usually expect from a Sentinel newly online, let along one recovering from a feral episode. With the evidence that touch wasn't as forbidden as they'd no doubt been told, the Sheriff took the opportunity to sling a supportive arm around his son's shoulders. For once, Isaac wasn't consumed with jealousy at the display of what a father-son relationship was supposed to look like. He didn't know why he wasn't moving, though. Boyd had Scott in (literal) hand, pulling him away for what was probably yet another useless attempt to get the idiot to see how mutually destructive is relationship with the Argent princess was. So why wasn't he at his locker, finishing putting on his uniform? Why was he still standing here, just out of arm's reach of the most annoying person he'd ever met? ''Isaac.'' A bro nod as Stiles opened his locker was all the acknowledgment he got. Which he hadn't even realized he was looking for until that precise moment. When he didn't get whatever it was he was looking for.

 

''Stiles.'' He wasn't disappointed, he told himself as he turned away. He'd long ago learned to bury any attraction to anyone, boy or girl, mostly out of fear. Fear that anyone he let close would find out one of his many secrets, fear that his father would finally kill him if he found out his son was bisexual, and fear that people, other people would somehow get hurt. Worst of all was the fear that his father was right; that he was broken, worthless, an abomination, an unwanted burden to everyone. Stiles may have been considered part of the pack long before Scott had dragged his feet to 'join' them, but that didn't mean he thought of them the same way. It certainly didn't mean Isaac should've gotten his hopes up. His internal pity-party slammed to a stop when a long-fingered hand grabbed his shoulder with bruising force and spun him around. He was slammed up against the lockers before his brain caught up enough to react. ''What the hell?''

 

''Guide.'' Stiles sounded stunned, palms flat on his chest, holding him against the cool metal. Isaac swallowed thickly, caught by the sight the other boy made. His skin was flushed a healthier shade of pale, his pupils dilated so wide the amber was a thin line, his nostrils flaring as he took deep breath after deep breath. He was so distracted by the sight, by the tongue that darted out to wet the plump bottom lip, he almost missed the plaintive query of ''Guide?''

 

''Yeah.'' He had to swallow again, feeling the flush racing across his skin. He would be more comfortable if he could lower his eyes, but he just couldn't look away. Stiles had transformed, like he'd stopped hiding who he was to become a creature of wild grace and animal magnetism. A Sentinel. ''Yeah, I'm a Guide.'' It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and the first time he'd ever even  _thought_ it and not felt a corresponding wave of self-loathing and guilt. 

 

''Let him go!'' Scott yelled, his 'rescue' attempt thankfully thwarted by a softly growling Boyd. Looks like this talk had gone about as well as all the others. From the sound of it, most of the other guys were helping corral the self-righteous annoyance.

 

''Guide.'' Now Stiles' voice was more insistent, though there was still a questioning tilt to his head. With a jolt, Isaac realized just what it was that was happening.  **Guide** . Not an identifier, a  _claim_ . ''Guide.''

 

He didn't know what to do. Well, that wasn't true. He knew what to do, he just didn't know if he wanted to. This was a bond even stronger than pack, a responsibility greater than friendship. It wasn't that Stiles wasn't good-looking, in his own unconventional way. He was smart, too, - too smart for his own good, really, most of the time. He also managed to get into the most ridiculous situations, most of which turned out as dangerous as they were amusing.  _Trouble magnet_ . Loyal, funny, a little goofy – a lot of things that Isaac would've looked for, if he'd been looking. The sense of safety, the protection that this would offer him pulled at him insistently; but he refused to let that temptation cloud his judgment. Both of them deserved for this decision to be made for the right reasons. He was just so terrified of not being good enough, of losing everything he cared about in a single, horrible moment. It's not like it hadn't happened before, and not just to him. Closing his eyes briefly to brace himself, he opened them to see his own fears staring back at him. The hands on his chest were shaking, the pressure lessening as the other boy prepared to pull back. _He must think he's being rejected,_ Isaac thought in a panic. 

 

''Sentinel.'' Suddenly, he was very sure this what he wanted. He might not be entirely confident that could do it, but damn, was he going to try. His chances were pretty good, he figured, when you took into account that Stiles had taught a newly-turned werewolf control with nothing more than Google and the inability to give up. Wetting his lips, he put his hands on the other boy's shoulders. He'd been tempted to put them on his waist, or even cup his face; but he didn't want to things to get out of hand. At least, not while they had an audience, especially since that audience included Stiles' father. ''Sentinel.''

 

''Mine.  **My** Guide.''  _Wow, he could give growling lessons to Derek._ The possessiveness might've been off-putting to some people, but it actually made him feel safe. Protected in a way that even the pack couldn't provide. 

 

''My Sentinel.'' Lydia crossed his mind and he added a growl of his own to the proceeding. '' **Mine** .''

The petite beauty had her shot, now she could suck it with the rest of them. Stiles was his. And he wasn't the type to care that his bike didn't have a motor.

 

''Isaac.'' Stiles laughed, leaning in. As good as it was to realize the guy was aware enough to know  _who_ he was pre-bonding with, he didn't want their first kiss to be here and now. He wasn't entirely sure the Sheriff wasn't armed, for starters. Proving once again that he was as unpredictable as he was annoying, Stiles merely shifted them into a hug, the kind he'd seen the shorter boy exchange with his father. His Sentinel – his  _sentinel_ , he wasn't gonna weep for joy, he  _wasn't_ – tucked his face into Isaac's neck with a happy sigh. ''Isaac.'' 

 

''Y'know what I just realized?'' Stiles made a questioning noise, busy nosing at his neck. Nosing, and giving a brief, small lick. He instantly lost all ability to think. He also lost track of where they were, to the extent that, when he leaned in (to kiss, to lick – he wasn't sure), the shriek of Coach's whistle took him completely by surprise. The pain became secondary when his armful of cuddly Sentinel transformed into a keening mess in reaction. ''Stiles!'' Dropping to his knees, he rubbed a soothing hand up and down the other's back. He glared at the man holding the whistle. ''What did you do that for?''

 

''I figured it was more humane than a bucket of cold water.'' The Sheriff answered, handing the instrument of torture back to it's owner. Coach nodded and started yelling at Greenburg for taking pictures. ''Danny and …..Boyd?'' His pack-mate nodded, smirking at him over the older male's shoulder. ''They'll get your stuff. You throw shirt and shoes on so we can get you boys out of here before......''

 

''Something goes down in the tent?'' A pained look flashed across the worn face and Isaac wondered how much his lack of filter was about to cost him. Having just found his Sentinel, when he wasn't even looking; he wasn't looking forward to having to give him up for the two years until they were adults.

 

''Ah, crap.'' Resigned and a little amused, but not pissed. He'd take it. ''Now there are two of you.''


	8. On Angel's Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My first official try at the Shadowhunter (TV) fandom. I suck at battle scenes. Hopefully everyone saw the season2 finale? Some changes made! Very Alec-centric.

This scene won't leave me alone, so here you are. Shadowhunters (TV) and Alec-centric. Assumes everyone has seen the season 2 finale (spoilers, kinda) so I am just gonna say that Alec, Izzy, and Magnus showed up a lot sooner.

\---

Alec saw the blade descending towards his parabatai and loosed an arrow without aiming. Unfortunately, that meant it only grazed Valentine, even if it did make him stumble. The coward grabbed Clary and dragged her towards the lake shore, leaving his followers to deal with the three rescuers. He made several kill shots, feeling rage building that Morgenstern's lunacy had spread to so many. Izzy was just kneeling down to iratze Jace when there was a burst of light from the lake. Terrified, he shot a look towards Magnus; so relieved to see the warlock on his feet he actually had to put a hand on a nearby tree to keep upright.

 

''Go!'' Izzy shouted, not lifting her head from their brother. ''Jace is alright, you need to stop that maniac!''

 

''And save Clary.'' Magnus pointed out, stepping forward as if to go with him. Not even thinking about it. Alec swung his bow forward to block his path.

 

''You can't be in the Angel's presence, Magnus, your father is a Prince of Hell.'' As much as he hated seeing the hurt flash across that beloved face, he would've hated to see it burnt off with divine fire even more. Seeing the protest rising, and not wanting to waste any more time arguing; he shrugged his quiver off his shoulder and held out his favored weapon to his former lover. ''Watch Izzy's back for me. We don't know if we got them all.''

 

''Right.'' Magnus took the bow reluctantly, eyes shadowed with worry even through the glamour. ''Because it's not like I have magic.''

 

Alec tuned out Izzy's explanation about non-fatal arrow injuries going over better with the Clave than killing magic, even when the victims were Circle members. Father and daughter had left a trail that was easy to follow, but that didn't mean he shouldn't be wary. He kept his seraph blade in hand, but dark, not wanting the glow to give his position away. Pausing briefly at the edge of woods, he took in the scene and rushed forward, hoping he would make it in time. Sure enough, Valentine knocked Clary to the sand, raising his seraph blade for a killing blow. Raziel watched with unearthly stillness as Alec moved faster than he ever had, catching Morgenstern's blow on his own blade centimeters away from the girl's neck.

 

''Lightwood.'' the older man snarled, taking a few steps back to get room to maneuver. ''You think you stand a chance, faggot? Not even Jace was a match for me.'' He lunged forward, appearing surprised when Alec countered his every move. In avoiding stepping on Fairchild, who was just lying there like an idiot, he left himself open to a blow that he barely managed to twist away from. A line of fiery pain along his arm meant he hadn't avoided it entirely. ''You see? I have a righteous purpose! I'm trying to save our race!''

 

''If you succeed, who's going to save us from you?'' Alec went on the offensive, driving his enemy back towards the water. Surprise flicked across the insane gaze before the rage surged back to the fore.

 

''You little cocksucker.'' Valentine's breath was starting to come faster, confusion distracting him from the fight. ''What magic are you using to do this?'' He actually growled when Alec dodged a disemboweling blow. Turning inside the other's reach, he executed a perfect side-kick to the leading kneecap, knocking his opponent off-balance. ''How?!'' Morgenstern shrieked, rushing forward with a flurry of moves that regained him most of the ground he'd lost.

 

''Just because I prefer the bow doesn't mean I can't use the sword.'' Alec commented calmly, focused on the breathing of the would-be conqueror; waiting for the opportune moment as he ducked and parried.

 

''Everyone knows my son is the better swordsman.'' The rage and confusion finally lead him to a mistake, letting Alec strike the blade from his hand with a move he'd been shown by the Iron Sister who'd come to evaluate Isabelle. ''No! This is impossible! Jace.....''

 

''Jace is not your son.'' Alec snapped, bringing his blade around to behead the bastard who'd caused so much suffering. He didn't care what the Clave thought about it. That son of a bitch was not getting another chance to hurt anyone. ''And he's only known as the best because I got tired of hearing him whine about it.'' He murmured.

 

''Hey!'' His parabatai protested from the tree line, leaning heavily on Izzy.

 

''Jace!'' Finally, the little bitch moved. Concerned, he looked past his family to see if Magnus had been idiot enough to follow them. From the bow tip peeking up over their heads, the answer was yes. He looked over his shoulder, wondering why the Angel was still present.

 

''He who sheds his blood may compel me to a single action.'' Raziel's voice reverberated through his entire body, setting his mind to tingling. He scowled at the cry of pain from the warlock, blanching when he realized just who he was scowling at. ''The destruction of the demon-blooded souls is not the Will of Heaven.'' This time, the tone was gentler, even amused, and there was response from Magnus.

 

''I don't think he'll go without someone wishing.'' Clary offered from her position plastered to his brother's side. At least she was supporting some of his weight, letting Izzy breathe easier.

 

''Sheds his blood.'' Izzy muttered, looking at him with determined eyes. She stepped forward. Panicked, he racked his brain for an idea that would stop her. One came, but he really wished it hadn't. He pushed his misery down, not wanting his selfishness to keep him from saving his family.

 

''No!'' Jace grabbed at her arm, nearly falling on his face. Still weak from his wounds, then. Good, that meant he wouldn't be able to interfere.

 

''Jace is right.'' Alec turned to face the Angel, blade in hand. He was grateful, suddenly, that he and Magnus were over. Maybe it wouldn't hurt the other man so much this way? He could only hope. ''Angel Raziel.'' Having that attention focused on him was unnerving. He pulled at the courage that had driven him down the aisle of his own wedding to kiss a Downworlder in front of everyone who wouldn't approve. ''I shed my blood.'' He spun his blade around and plunged it into his stomach. Pain greater than any he had ever known flared, putting him on his knees.

 

''Alec, no!''

 

 **''Alec!** ''

 

'' _NO!'_ '

 

' _ **'Alexander**_!''

 

The anguish in that last voice almost undid him, but he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and raised his head to look upon the Angel Raziel.

 

''Speak your will.'' Raziel ordered, face impassive.

 

''Heal!'' Izzy shouted in his ear. If he'd had the strength, he would've flinched. ''He wishes to heal!''

 

''Alec.'' Jace's voice was broken, their rune flaring in distress. He couldn't feel it past the agony of the angelic sword in his gut. A whimper drew his gaze to the last member of their party. The usually immaculate man with the massive presence looked …..small, washed out.

 

''I wish...'' He looked away from the utter devastation in golden cat eyes and focused on Raziel. He'd had something in mind when he'd done this, hadn't he? The idea surged forward from where the pain had pushed it back. ''I wish.......''

 

''Alec.'' Izzy sobbed, her hand blocked from reaching the hilt by some angelic force; her stele blocked by the same power. Focusing, he sat up straighter from his slumped position; relived the pain was going numb, even as he knew that wasn't a good sign.

 

''I wish for written, blessed guidance from the four protective archangels so that we Nephilim may succeed in our mission.'' He took a breath, coughing when it stuck in his throat. ''From Michael, Guardian of South, so we may have peace. From Gabriel, Guardian of the West, so we may have understanding. From Uriel, Guardian of the North, so we may have a new beginning as well as any needed reform. From Raphael.....'' He laughed, coughing his way through the amusement. He'd just realized the irony of the head of a vampire clan sharing a name with an archangel. Maybe it wasn't that funny, his head was spinning. Where was he? Blood filled his mouth, so he turned his head and spat, ignoring the broken noise Magnus made. ''From Raphael, the Guardian of the East, I ask that we be healed of the sins we have done unto each other.'' All four were crying, now. He didn't think he'd ever heard his parabatai cry before. Alec didn't dare turn his head to even say goodbye, afraid he wouldn't be able to finish if he did. ''I wish for the Mortal Book of Alliance, Angel Raziel, that the Shadoworld may be united in purpose and peace.''

 

''Your will be done.'' A silver-white book with golden embellishments appeared in the angel's hands, glowing with power, a rune he didn't recognize deep-set in the cover. When the angel just stood there, he realized what was wanted.

 

''Alec, what are you....''

 

Brushing aside the helping hands, he struggled to his feet, hunching over the renewed agony. The seraph blade slipped free, falling to the ground with a rush of dark blood. Wailing he vaguely identified as Magnus started behind him as he reached with shaking hands for the book he'd given his life for. The leather (?) was slippery in his grip, blood smearing it's surface red. He hoped like hell it was going to be worth it, that the Clave wouldn't lock it up in a dusty corner somewhere and ignore it.

 

''Alexander Gideon Lightwood.'' Raziel took advantage of his armful of holy words and grabbed his shoulder with one hand, placing the other with righteous strength over the wound in his stomach. Gasping loudly at the agony, he could still hear the resonant, sacred voice. ''You are most aptly named.'' Alec opened his mouth to scream, heat flaring within his body. No sound would come out, muscles seizing as he felt like he was being consumed by fire from the inside out. ''Behold he who is worthy!'' There was a strange echo to the words, and they seemed to be centered on his Angel rune? He must be hallucinating as he died. ''Behold this child of the Nephilim, he who bears the Word of Heaven! Behold! Champion of Angels!'' There was so much pain he couldn't trace it, a weird ripping sound coming from behind him before he gratefully passed out.

 

–

 

''By the Angel.'' Jace murmured.

 

'That's what you have to say?!'' Izzy yelled at him, face smeared with tears, mascara, and dirt. Magnus was rocking back and forth on his knees, arms wrapped around himself so tightly that all his joints were pale with the strain. His eyes were fixed on the still form at the water's edge. ''Who cares about the Angel? About anything?! Our brother is......''

 

''Alive.'' He pulled his shirt up, looking down to confirm the rune he felt was indeed still there. He blinked, shocked at the golden tone to the familiar symbol. Clary poked it, making him tense as he waited for …. he didn't know what. His parabatai had wings. Wings! He had no idea about anything right now.

 

''What do you mean, alive?'' Izzy whispered, looking from his rune to their brother in confusion. Before she could take a single step, Magnus snapped free of his despairing fugue. The warlock moved just as fast as any Nephilim, skidding to his knees beside Alec's body.

 

''Alexander.'' The hoarse reverence in the usually lilting, teasing voice made him somewhat uncomfortable. He didn't know it was possible for anyone to feel something that strongly and not go insane. He watched with bated breath, not sure if what he was felling through the bond was reality or wishful thinking. Alec had wings! He was more confused than he'd ever been in his life, including finding out he was a Herondale. Shaking hands turned the limp form over, agonizing in their slow, tender movements. Magnus gently tucked the wings under Alec, magic flaring over his fingers as he checked on Jace's brother. His parabatai was apparently not satisfied with being gay, or dating a High Warlock. No, he had to go and get blessed with wings by the Angel Raziel. Wings! His life was so weird. ''He's breathing!'' Magnus collapsed onto Alec's chest with relief, gasping and smiling. ''His heart's beating!'' Jace relaxed at the declaration, grateful the bond was working again. Much as he was (guiltily) relieved to have been spared Alec's obvious agony, he never wanted to feel that empty space where his soul's brother was supposed to be again. Even if he did have wings, now.

 

''Where's the blood?'' Clary had picked up the book Alec had fallen on top of, brushing the sand free. Jace frowned, expression pulling harder at his face when he saw that the leather (?) was clear of the red that had smeared it only moments ago.

 

''There's none in the sand, either. Or on Alexander.'' Magnus said, not moving from where he was drapped over Jace's brother, his head placed so that his ear was pressed firmly over the chest. Jace couldn't blame him. If he couldn't feel the pulse of life through his rune, the warlock would have company. ''His wound is gone, as well.''

 

''Of course!'' Every gaze snapped to Izzy, her laughter sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness they'd fallen into. ''The angel said 'shed his blood', not 'give his life'.'' She sobered staring at Alec's unconcious form. ''Of course, being willing to give his life probably **helped**.'' Tears started down her face, wiping new tracks over her cheeks, Jace felt his own eyes sting with grief again. If not for Raziel's mercy, his willingness to exploit a loophole, their brother would be dead. He would've lost his parabatai. The very thought choked him, making him struggle to breathe. He didn't care about the wings, anymore, too grateful that his brother was still alive.

 

''Why does he have wings, now?'' For the first time since they'd met, Jace wished Clary wasn't there. Who _cared_ _**why**_ Alec had wings? He was **alive** , for the Angel's sake. Gift enough.

 

''I believe he has wings so that we would be more accepting of warlocks and their marks.'' The cool voice from the woods startled him into moving. Despite his wounds, he was able to get to his feet and activate his Seraph blade. It shook in his grip as he remembered the last blow such a blade had struck. Firming up his will, he checked Izzy's and Clary's postion as several Shadowhunters came out of the treeline.

 

''What are you doing here?'' Clary demanded, hostility in every curve of her body. She stood between the others and the Mortal Sword, stuck point-down in the sand. Had it always been in that position? He didn't remember. Blue swirls from behind him signaled Magnus' readiness to defend his ….... were they back together, now? He had to remember to ask. Izzy's whip sizzled across the sand, making one of the people advancing step back. ''You're too late, Valentine is dead.''

 

''Did you kill him?'' The older woman asked, hands out and empty, expression more curious than disdainful. Jace was so confused. That behavior wasn't indicative of the Circle _or_ the Clave. He supposed he'd better get used to things not making sense, what with Alec having wings now and all.

 

''Alec did.'' Izzy gloated, giving him an amused side-eye. He huffed. No way did he believe that Alec had let him win all those sparring matches. It was just a way to psych out his opponent. The memory of Melliorn's rescue flashed across his mind, the feel of marble under his back as he pleaded with his parabatai. He shoved it away. It didn't count. His heart hadn't been in that fight. ''Chopped his head right off.''

 

''Such is the Will of Heaven.'' Jace frowned. He didn't like the way that guy was looking at his brother. Reverent, awestruck; the way some of the vamps looked at Simon. Magnus didn't like it either, apparetnly, because a flash of blue went off in the Shadowhunter's face, making him curse and flinch back.

 

''The Angel's Champion.'' What appeared to be the leader intoned. ''Raziel was right, he **is** aptly named.''

 

''How did you hear that?'' Jace asked, tightening his grip as a thought occurred. ''Were you watching this whole time? Waiting to see who won? Like _cowards_?!''

 

''Jace!'' Izzy protested, trying to calm him. The raised hand of their spokeswoman was doing the same for the offended looking Nephilim that had arrived with her. He had no sympathy. If they didn't want to be called cowards, they should've been there when Alec needed them. Maybe if they had....... He shook of the thought. What mattered now was taking care of his parabatai. And figuring out how the other man was going to fight with those wings throwing his balance off.

 

''We heard it!'' One of the younger Nephilim in the crowd raised his arm, showing his angelic rune on inside of his forearm. ''Through our **rune** ! It was so _weird_ ! Like a hallucination, but it felt like a rune activating. Which I guess it did? We saw and heard Lightwood be named by the Angel Raziel and given his charge and his wings. Wings! Do you think he'll be able to _**fly** _?! That would be so cool!''

 

''Son.....'' That was a long-suffering and embarrased tone. He'd heard it a lot from his brother whenever he'd been caught at 'book club'. An older man, apparently the boy's father, came forward and put a hand on his shoulder, putting a halt to the babble. He wished it was that easy with Clary's friend.

 

''So that's what Simon would be like as a Shadowhunter.'' Clary muttered. Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He'd been thinking that very thing. He heard a snort from Magnus' direction and guessed the warlock found the comparison as funny as he did.

 

''We should get back.'' Magnus stated, rustling noises betraying his movement. Jace risked a look and saw that the warlock had cast some spell so that Alec was resting on a bled of blue fire, wings wrapped across his chest. He looked so peaceful and serene and Jace realized that his brother was actually very attractive. He hoped Magnus appreciated that. Rubbing at his rune, relishing the thrum of life that came through; he assessed the warlock. One hand encased in fingerless gloves was gripped tightly in a beringed one, a cat-eyed expression dared anyone to have a problem with it. He added his own glare to challenge, smirking when several disapproving faces averted their gaze. ''It's cold and Alec ….lost his shirt.'' It was ripped apart when the Angel gave him the wings, he meant. Jace was going to put that down as the strangest thing he'd ever see in his life. He was confident nothing was going to top it, even if he managed to live to a ripe old age.

 

''Right.'' Assessing the situation, he put his blade away, motioning to Izzy to stow her weapon as well. The newcomers relaxed. Idiots. It wasn't like he couldn't still kick all their asses, even trembling with the beginnings of shock as he was. His sister especially was more than capable to teaching them all some humility. ''Izzy, grab the Mortal Sword.'' She was the only one he trusted to even _touch_ the thing, on the off chance Valentine had managed to activate it when he was raising Raziel. He scowled at the corpse, wishing he lacked honor enough to spit on it. Glad as he was the man was dead, he did wish that Valentine had suffered more. Like, if he'd gotten some Mundie sickness. What was the big one? Concrete? Yeah, he wished Morgenstern had died of concrete. ''Clary, hand me the book and find the cup.'' Thankfully, she didn't challenge his authority or suggest a different order.. Angel be thanked for small favors. Angel be thanked for a lot of things, today. Alec being alive took up the top ten places on **that** list. That gratitude was going to be in his prayers for a good _**long** _ while. ''If you could transport the body?'' He suggested snidely to the group before him.

 

''Acceptable.'' The old woman gestured and several people came forward, grimacing as they realized they'd have to go into the shallows of the lake to retrieve the head. Gee, he was so sorry he and his friends had their hands full. Really. And he was wounded. Couldn't help, such a shame. He caught Izzy's eye and she smirked at him in agreement. ''I would like to accompany you back to New York, if I may.'' Shocking and more shocking, she addressed this statement to Magnus. In a **polite** tone. Jace was wrong, Alec getting wings was not the strangest thing ever. He was going to have to re-evaluate if Shadowhunters were going to start treating warlocks with respect. Obviously just as shocked as he was, Magnus just nodded, using far fewer gestures than he usually did to create the doorway. Jace guessed the floating cushion of blue fire supporting Alec took a lot of concentration, if the warlock was cutting down on his usual flamboyance.

 

''I have a question.'' Clary said, trying to wipe the cup off on her shirt. He didn't tel her that the sweat and sand soaking her clothes were only making it worse. The aghast expression on the other Shadowhunters' faces was far too amusing to insist she treat a mortal instrument with more reverence.

 

''Just one?!'' He heard the hysterical edge to his voice and decided he really needed to sit down. Soon. He wasn't dealing as well with the events of the day as he'd believed if he was that close to the edge of losing it.

 

'''Well, two. I mean, who are you, anyway?'' This was addressed to the older woman who was in charge of the late-comers. Yeah, that was a legitimate concern. Granted, they were headed to the New York Institute; but if she was from the wrong family, things could get complicated.

 

''Talia Hale. New consul to the Clave.'' That was fast. Of course, with the Angel making announcements through the rune, Jace guessed there would be a tendency for things to get done more quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Izzy relax; so he guessed the family was a good one. Or, at least, non-hostile to Alec and his ….proclivities.

 

''Congratulations.'' Clary nodded at her. It wasn't very respectful, but the tone was cordial. So there was that. Hopefully, this was an indication that she was going to be more diplomatic from now on. He could dream, anyway.

 

''Could you put a rush on the other question, biscuit?'' Magnus prompted. ''Portals aren't as easy to hold as they look.'' He'd spent a lot of energy in their fight, as well. Jace supposed being that close to Raziel hadn't all that comfortable for the warlock, either. Not to mention...... No. He wasn't thinking of **t** **hat.** Those were alone in his room with several bottles of booze thoughts. He didn't want to think of _that_ with an audience.

 

''Why is Alec 'aptly named'? He's got black hair, so Lightwood isn't.......what's so funny?'' Clary tried to glare in several directions at once. He had sympathy for her,, he was confused by that comment as well; but he didn't think it was something that couldn't wait until they;d gotten home and had several hours sleep. And another _iratze_ rune. He was starting to feel the blows he'd taken that day.

 

''It's not for Lightwood. It's for Alexander.'' The babbler explained, going quiet when Hale and his father shot him severe looks.

 

''Alexander? Alexander the Great?'' Jace snorted, unapologetic when she gave his a hurt expression. He seriously doubted the Angel had any admiration for an ancient Mundane general, however impressive he supposedly was.

 

''Alexander.'' Magnus' voice was affectionate, caressing the syllables lovingly. He reached up and brushed Alec's hair off his forehead, rings miraculously not catching on a single strand. ''The original meaning of the name.'' Talia Hale nodded in agreement, finishing the explanation as the warlock became distracted by arranging Alec's hair to some arcane purpose. Or Jace supposed he could be enjoying running his fingers through it.

 

''Alexander.'' Her voice was respectful, much better than the awe and excitement others had shown. '' 'Defender of man' .''

 

 


	9. Flexibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the photos comparing shirtless Alec working out in season one (where the back of his left shoulder is bare) and the shirtless Alec in season two where he wakes up in Magnus' bed (and the flexibility rune is clearly visible). So takes place sometime between 2x7 and 2x15? Ignores Izzy's addiction story arc, as this is intended as fluffy humor.

x------x

''Ready for another round?''

 

Alec shook his head, holding up a hand to let his parabatai know that he needed a moment. He watched with concern as Jace started going through a few katas to keep from stiffening up. Good as it was to have his brother back, he was worried. The blond hadn't been the same since his return, especially after Aldertree had all but exiled him. It had taken more effort than he'd expected to get the other man to agree to even _train_ , let alone go on patrol. He said it was because he didn't want his siblings to get into trouble, but Alec had seen the slight tremor in the other's hands. Something was going on. There were shadows in the multi-colored eyes that hadn't been there before.

 

''Alec?'' He shoved his worry aside, focusing on his brother. He had a request to make, after all. ''You okay, buddy?''

 

''I need a rune. Flexibility.'' That was **not** how he'd intended to ask. Not that he'd really wanted to ask, but his only other option was Izzy, so here he was.

 

''Flexibility rune isn't gonna keep me from kicking your ass. Again.'' Jace spun his weapons in alternating circles, showing off. ''You're gonna need a miracle for that.''

 

''We've already got a miracle.'' Alec remarked, adjusting his grip on his own blades, steadying his breathing. His parabatai raised an eyebrow expectantly and he grinned sharply in response. ''It has to be a miracle your ego hasn't smothered you by now.''

 

''It's only ego if I'm not that good.'' They traded blows, the archer barely avoiding several strikes as he gave ground. ''And I am.''

 

Alec snorted so he could keep from rolling his eyes and let himself get lost in the familiar rhythm of training. It was probably a bad idea to ask Jace, anyway. Finding out Clary was his sister had messed him up _before_ Valentine revealed he'd injected his son with demon blood. The laughing, cocky boy he'd grown up with was no longer the norm; replaced with a morose and touchy warrior with all his brother's worst traits – recklessness, sexual escapades, drinking – exaggerated to dangerous levels. This was the first time in weeks he'd seen even a glimmer of the old Jace, and he wasn't going to ruin it by rubbing his happiness in the other's face.

 

He'd have to ask Izzy, after all.

 

x-----------x

 

There was no way he could ask Izzy.

 

Alec stood staring at his sister's door, biting his lip, trying to make a decision. As much as he wanted to do this, to get the rune he needed; he wasn't really looking forward to explaining _why_ he wanted, needed this rune. There was no way she wouldn't ask, wouldn't refuse to give it to him until he told her. And then.......... He was used to the teasing, didn't even usually mind it; knowing she loved him and just wanted him to be happy. It was just...... This thing with Magnus felt new and fragile and he didn't know if he could handle her poking at it. Sighing, he turned to go back to his own room.

 

And jerked back so hard he hit the wall when he saw Izzy standing _ **right**_ _there_ , arms crossed and a smirk on her lips.

 

''Izzy!'' He flinched at the volume, cringing as he waited to see if he'd woken anyone. Thankfully, if any Nephilim were in the rooms in this hall, they appeared to have used a silencing rune. _Thank the Angel_.

 

''Hey, big brother.'' She tilted her head at him, eyes shining as they usually were after a training session. Her voice was full of mischief as she asked ''Looking for me?''

 

''N...no?'' Oh, that didn't sound suspicious **at all.** What had he been doing, standing in the hall for a good five minutes (at least) if he **wasn't** looking for Isabelle? He closed his eyes. Sometimes he was a bigger idiot than Jace. ''I mean, yeah. Yes. If you're busy, though.....'' He trailed off hopefully, opening one eye to see if there was any way he could escape the coming conversation.

 

''Never too busy for you, bro.'' No rescue, then. He followed her dejectedly into her room, resigned to his fate. He could **try** to get out of it, of course; make some excuse and flee. But he knew good and well that she would _**never**_ let it go. He'd be hearing about it for months, probably on patrol or during training. This way, she should have the teasing out of her system in a few weeks. He hoped so, anyway. ''Oh, come on, it can't be _that_ bad, can it?'' Her gaze darted about his face and she spun to the closed door, using her stele to put up **two** silencing runes as well as a locking one. Alec was about to ask what it was she'd seen in his expression that caused such an extreme response when she turned back around and all but pushed him onto the bed. ''Are you okay? Is Magnus? Are you fighting? Did things not go well? We can fix this, I promise, Alec; you two are made for each other and whatever it is, we can....''

 

''Izzy. Izzy. Isabelle!'' Her full name stopped her babbling and he took her trembling hands in his. He'd had no idea that this, his first romantic relationship, was as important to his sister as it was to him. Alec felt a little guilty he'd only thought of how she'd tease him for his request, not how supportive and happy for him she'd be. Underestimating her was something he'd never done before and he didn't like the way it made his chest ache. ''We're fine. Everything went great, okay? Everything...'' Memories flooded his mind and he felt his face heating up. He had to clear his throat to even speak. ''Everything is …..it's......''

 

''Quite magical?'' The relief on her now-teasing face made him lower his guard, which is why the punch she landed on his shoulder took him completely by surprise. She didn't even pull it, so his clutching at the injury was totally justified. He would have to iratze it later, as there was no way he was explaining the bruise to Magnus. ''You ass! I was really worried! By the Angel, Alec; I thought you'd panicked and broken up with him or something!''

 

''Why would I panic?'' What did she think Magnus was going to do? Tie him to the bed or.....okay, he didn't know **that** was an idea he'd find appealing. He'd have to think about that. Later. When he wasn't in a room with his _sister_.

 

''I don't know! Because you're, or you were, a virgin? Because you only recently admitted you were gay? Because he lost his glamour and you saw his mark?'' As true as the other statements were, he couldn't let that last one pass without comment.

 

''Hey! Magnus' eyes are beautiful.'' She regarded him with surprise, but he kept his expression firm and resolute. He stood by his statement, and no one was ever going to convince him otherwise. Her face relaxed into a tender smile, her eyes going soft. She reached out and cupped his cheek.

 

''Okay, big brother. Okay.'' He nodded once and she actually patted his head before flopping dramatically back onto the bed. ''So! If everything is so.....magical.....'' she giggled and nudged his knee with her own. ''..what brings you to my door, hermano?''

 

''I need you to do a rune for me.'' Izzy opened her mouth and he blushed so hard at the assumption in her gaze he was surprised he didn't lose consciousness. ''Not an iratze! By the Angel, what do you think we ......wait, no, don't tell me.'' She cackled at him and he sighed. His own thoughts were incendiary enough without inviting his sister's evil mind to speculate.

 

''Stamina?''

 

''No, I already......'' Alec closed his eyes, cursing himself for ten kinds of idiot. Humiliated, he peeked over to see if she was as gleeful as he anticipated. She was grinning like maniac, true; but she also looked …. approving? He really didn't want to get her any more involved in his sex life than she already was, but, since he'd already begun, he might as well see it all the way through. He was sure he'd stop blushing, eventually. No longer than a month, probably. ''Flexibility.''

 

'' _ **Really**_.'' She tilted her head, considering. There was no way he was going to interrupt and risk her telling him what she was thinking. His sister was very experienced and, while he didn't disapprove, he didn't want to **know** in the kind of detail she enjoyed torturing their mother with. She blinked and focused on him once more, concern in her expression. Bracing himself, he tried to prepare his mind for whatever she'd assumed this time. ''You know, there are other positions, Alec. You've got a lot more variety than het couples, actually. If you can't use one, just try something else. I promise you, Magnus will be fine with it.'' Her face insisted that 'he'd better be' making him smile even as he prepared to explain.

 

''We used the other positions.'' Angel, was he glad for the vague terms they were using. He didn't know if he was even capable of being more explicit, as embarrassing as he was finding this conversation. His face could probably double as a witchlight right now. ''It's just.......when we tried this one.....I cramped trying to get into position.'' And hadn't **that** killed the mood. It had taken several desperate hours for Alec to convince the warlock to even **touch** him again.

 

''What's so special about that _one way_ to have sex that you want a rune for it? Magnus isn't pressuring you, is he? Making you feel like you're not good enough because....'' Izzy looked ready to run right over to the High Warlock's loft and kick his ass all over Brooklyn. Much as he appreciated the defense, he would really prefer she save it for people who were actually being cruel to him.

 

''No, it's not Magnus who really wants this position.'' There had to be a way to say this that wouldn't be emotionally traumatic. Much as he would like to just call it quits, Alec couldn't let his sister's guesses fester into a negative opinion of his boyfriend. There was an abundance of people already more than willing to think badly of the other man, he didn't want to add another. Giving up on saving his dignity, he fixed his gaze on his knees and pushed forward. ''I want to see his eyes. When he's …. when I ….'' He couldn't actually say it. Not to his **sister** , for the Angel's sake. Hopefully, her experience would allow her to fill in the blanks in his stuttering. ''I want to see his eyes, see the real Magnus, not....'' He trailed off, fluttering one hand upwards, trying to convey all the grace, beauty, and elegance that was part of the glamour, the mask, his lover showed the world.

 

There was a long silence from beside him. He sat there quietly, listening to her breathing, slowing his own inhalations to match. It was a trick he'd used often, back when they'd been teenagers and her his only true confidant, when the secrets he was keeping rose up and shook him into panic. He relaxed into the comforting silence, the familiar surety of Izzy's support and love. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, tipping back to lie down, closing his eyes. Just about to drift off, she poked him in the shoulder. Right where she'd punched him, earlier. The pain was sharp and cleared his head immediately. Definitely going to have to iratze that developing bruise away.

 

''What?'' The embarrassment of the earlier conversation had faded, but now he was exhausted and not really in the mood to continue with the very uncomfortable talk he'd just forced himself to have. She poked him again and he flinched upright. When had her fingers gotten so sharp and pointy? She could seriously put someone's eye out with those. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably why she'd developed them. ''What, Izzy?''

 

''Take off your shirt.'' He gaped at her. She spun her stele in one hand. ''Unless you want everyone asking why you added the flexibility rune?'' She waved at a blank space on his forearm.

 

Alec had never taken a shirt off so quickly in his life.

 

 

 

 


	10. Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending the night with Eliot and Margo, Quentin makes a decision that changes everything for the better.

xoxoxoxo

It was sound that came back to him first.

 

The screech of birds going about their morning routine, the soft huffs of people breathing nearby, the nearly silent creak and groan of the Physical Kids' cottage.

 

Quentin inhaled slowly, relieved when his stomach didn't violently rebel, when his head didn't start pounding to escape his skull. Someone must've slipped him a sobering potion or something, otherwise he'd be a hunched ball of misery over the nearest trashcan or toilet. As much as he'd drunk last night, trying to deal with his emotions, he really should have a hangover. The absence thereof wasn't as firm piece of evidence of magical intervention as the musky scent that permeated the air, however. There was no way Eliot or Margo would've taken him to bed unless he was in good, if not complete, command of his faculties. His memories were confusing, not really giving him a clear picture as to which of his friends he'd had sex with last night. The lavender smell that usually meant 'Eliot' was twisted far too tightly around the sandalwood of 'Margo' for him to figure it out by smell alone

 

Dreading the jolt of pain that would come when he opened his eyes, no matter how good the magic that had him painless now; Quentin took another slow breath, this time concentrating on what his sense of touch was telling him. It was obvious he wasn't in his own bed. His mattress was in no way this comfortable and his sheets were definitely not this soft. Gentle warmth on his face told him the room had an exterior window, a slight chill to his skin that the room's door was open and that his bedmate was a cover hog. The very masculine arm keeping the scrap of sheet covering his groin in place solved the mystery of which of his pining daydreams had come true.

 

Feeling a slight twinge of sorrow that Margo would be hurt at this expansion of his and Eliot's friendship, Quentin blinked his eyes open. No pain flared up as his sight adjusted, but he was still careful as he turned his head to confirm what his other senses had already told him. Eliot somehow looked gorgeous even drooling into his pillow. He also seemed to have more hair than usual. Quentin focused his gaze, wondering why Eliot would dye his hair different shades of black......

 

Oh.

 

Memory flared up, washing out what was actually in front of him in hazy recollection of lips and skin and eager hands. He remembered kissing Margo, her giggle as her spell vanished all three sets of clothes instead of just their two, the sobering spell that had woken Eliot. He recalled stuttering past his embarrassment of his own greed to express how much he wanted them both, appalled at his selfish refusal to choose. The gentle grip as the older man pulled him into the best kiss of his life, the strange comfort of Margo's blunt dismissal of any 'puritanical pablum of the patriarchy'. He'd never laughed during sex before, not without feeling humiliated by his partner's amusement. But being with Eliot and Margo had felt **joyous** , like coming home - safety and comfort and pleasure so strong it was approaching nirvana. How could he help but give voice to such bliss? Trailing his gaze downwards, he smiled fondly at the manicured hand resting on the other man's ribs, dark against the paler skin, remembering the feel of both. There was a small sound from the foot of the bed and he raised up onto his elbows to get a better look.

 

His blood chilled in his veins so quickly he expected his next exhale to be a visible indication of dropped temperature.

 

The lines around Alice's eyes tightened even as they started to glimmer with moisture. Her lips thinned at his continued silence and he suddenly saw the paths stretching out before him. Appease Alice, play the part of the besotted idiot he'd learned to be at Julia's feet. He had a feeling that wouldn't end well, even if the Beast wasn't a factor. Or, unload every resentment and suspicion, dragging all of them into a huge fight that would fracture their tentative unity just when they needed it most. The Beast would have his final slaughter, to the detriment of both Earth and Fillory. Or, most terrifying, he could stand up for himself and his choices. Only, not literally, as he was totally naked and he didn't think having everything on display would help his case. He was dreading Penny's snarky and condescending commentary as it was.

 

''You said it wasn't real.'' Quentin kept his voice low, his tone as non-confrontational as his years in therapy could make it. Which was, honestly, really fucking bland. ''What happened at Brakebills South, you said it wasn't real.'' Her eyes stopped tearing up, but she still had tight lines around them, her lips still thin with disapproval. Either his apparent lack of emotion was pissing her off or she just didn't like being outmaneuvered. Maybe both. ''You said what we did to bring Penny back was just a ritual, that it didn't mean anything.'' Some of the tension went out of her face, but she was still mad at him. She opened her mouth and he jumped in before she could find some reason, some alternative fact, to justify her claim on his affections. ''When we did the first bottle spell, you said you didn't want to deal with someone whose emotions were that out of control. That you couldn't be in a relationship with a guy who was broken at best and crazy at worst.''

 

A noise of protest from his right drew his attention to his newly acquired lovers. Margo's hostile gaze was glittering over Eliot's shoulder, only one eye visible as she glared at the other woman. Her protectiveness warmed him in a way Julia's coddling never had. He dismissed the painful comparison as irrelevant and shifted his attention to the third in their strange little trinity. The older man's focus was gentler, regarding Quentin with concern and a humbling amount of fondness. Fondness, he realized, that had always been there. He couldn't look away, reeling from the thought that all of this could've been his from the start. He was kind of glad they had waited until now, actually. He didn't think any of last night would be a good thing this morning if it wasn't built on the understanding foundation of their friendship.

 

''I didn't make a mistake last night.'' His voice had never been so confident, so determined. He put a hand on Eliot's wrist, holding it and the sheet in place so he didn't flash Alice as he turned onto his side to face his bed-partners. Margo shifted her gaze to track his movement, dark eyes softening to mirror her best friend's regard. She snuggled in, resting her chin on the taller man's shoulder to watch him. ''I didn't make a mistake.'' He repeated, trailing his hand up the lightly furred forearm to rest just over the elbow. Only a small, pleased twitch of plush lips revealed that Eliot even noticed. ''I made a choice. One I don't regret.'' He swallowed, suddenly unsure if he was reading the situation correctly. He'd always been shit at picking up on social clues. Maybe last night didn't mean to them what it meant to him? Maybe what he'd taken for affection and desire was just their version of friendship? He swallowed again, dropping his gaze to the chest in front of him, the hickey that was too big for Margo to have left encouraging him from the collarbone. ''A choice I'm hoping they don't regret either.''

 

''Of course we don't, Q.'' Eliot reassured him, tugging the sheet to cover more of his lower body. Relief and affection set his head to spinning. Quentin closed his eyes and tilted forward to rest his forehead over the other man's heart. At least he hadn't had a panic attack. That was something.

 

''You can leave now.'' Margo's tone was tender, despite the sharpness of her words. He wondered if she was being kind to respect his friendship with the blonde or if, like him, she'd started to suspect that Alice had a more important role to play in defeating the Beast then he did.

 

''Fine. Stay here with....'' The sharp _tack_ of her shoes stopped near the nightstand, her sudden silence so heavy a wave of tension surged in to fill it. His shoulders started to tighten up towards his ears, her gaze a physical sensation. He could feel the marks his lovers had left across his back, she didn't have to make a big deal about it. ''Oh my God. _**Quentin**_.'' Not only did she not sound angry any more, there was a note of happiness among the surprise that he'd never heard from her before; not even in the midst of sex. That couldn't be a reaction to the hickeys and scratches, then.

 

''What are you looking at?'' Eliot wondered, pulling him into a closer embrace, tugging at his left shoulder with one hand to get a better look. Quentin felt the older man tense as he caught sight of whatever had caused Alice's weird reaction.

 

''What?'' Had there been some kind of weird side effect from the sobering spell? Some obscure ritual they'd accidentally invoked? He shifted back to put enough distance between himself and the taller man to meet his gaze. Shock was giving way to excitement as their gazes locked. ''What is....mmph?'' No one had ever kissed him like this. Tender and sweet but firm, insistent; lighting a fire deep in his gut. He forgot all about whatever else was going on as he lost himself in the sensation.

 

''A soul mark.'' Alice whispered reverently.

 

''What?!'' He jerked back from the amazing kiss to see Margo looking just as shocked as he felt. She sat up, ignoring the sheet that fell to her waist and revealed her breasts. Her hands was shaking badly as she smoothed it over Eliot's back. From where her eyes were focused, the mark was somewhere between the man's shoulder blades. Which meant his mark was in the same place. Hurt flared across her face, she made a choked little sound as she pulled her hand back.

 

''Bambi?'' Eliot twisted around, trying to see both his oldest friend and his back. His concern was blatant, even if he didn't loosen his grip on Quentin one bit.

 

''It's there. Little crown.'' Her voice was trembling and she snatched a pillow violently into her lap to clutch at it. She looked lost and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. Things were coming together in his head, but his thoughts were spinning too fast for him to pin them down into words.

 

''Q's is a heart.'' Eliot smiled at him, flinching at the wounded sound Margo made. Even as the brunett loosened his grip and turned to comfort his oldest friend, the last piece clicked into place.

 

''Claddagh!'' Quentin sat up, barely avoiding falling off the bed. Fortunately, one leg was already out from under the sheet; so he just flung his foot to the floor and hoped for the best. Even so, it was lucky Eliot's reflexes were as fast as they were.

 

''Bless you.'' Eliot looked torn, concern directed at the people to either side of him. Alice was oddly quiet, probably sensing that her input wouldn't be welcome or helpful.

 

''Margo has a mark, too.'' He was ecstatic. Confirmation that what he was feeling was reciprocated, that it wasn't greed or selfishness that pulled him towards two people instead of the normal one. It was _meant to be_. A reward for three lives full of pain and doubt. He didn't need to see it. He **knew**.

 

''Bambi?'' Eliot sat up, reaching for her. They stared at each other, her smaller frame twitching in the tense atmosphere. She finally turned away, presenting his back to their view. Both men gasped, the older man reaching out to rest his palm over the golden lines of two hands cupped in supplication. ''Oh, Margo.'' There was so much affection and joy that the mood in the room instantly relaxed. Margo turned, expression demanding answers.

 

''Claddagh. The old Irish symbol.'' Quentin smiled, feeling happier than he ever had in his life. Not even discovering magic was real was better than this. ''Friendship.'' He nodded at the brunette woman, making the cupped hands gesture, smiling even bigger when her eyes started to widen. ''Loyalty'' He looked at Eliot, raising his hands to crown himself with spread fingers. He ignored the smirk and put his right hand over his heart, twisting his left in the sheet to keep himself grounded. ''Love.''

 

''Like in Buffy.'' Eliot breathed looking like all his dreams had come true. Quenting was right there with him.

 

''I'm Buffy. Neither of you bitches are cool enough.'' Margo declared, tossing the pillow aside to drag her old friend down into her arms, stretching out a hand to draw Quentin into the embrace as well. ''You're Angel, babe. Which means Q is Xander.'' He would've protested her casting, but she had a point. He **was** Xander. He just hoped she never realized he could actually do the Snoopy Dance.

 

''I suppose that makes me Willow.'' Alice commented, starling him. He'd been so caught up in the new shape of his relationship with his two favorite people, he'd forgotten she was there. When he risked a glance, she actually looked like she was happy for him. She was smiling, at least, and there was no undercurrent of anger to it. A small amount of pain, understandable if she'd been expecting him to wait for her to choose him, but no other negative emotions. ''I'll take it.''

 

When they made the deal for the knife and had to tell the Knifemaker that their soul bond prevented a marriage to his daughter, it was Alice who offered herself as an alternative.

 

When the Beast fell, it was Alice who abdicated to her wife, leaving her free to help Julia with her more personal quest. Fen made a great Queen, helping the Children of Earth to rule Fillory wisely.

 

When Tik was exposed as a traitor, it was Alice's notebook of suggestions that allowed them to recover the people's faith and remain in power. The Rules of Responsibility, detailing rights for the common folk, magical creatures, and talking animals solidified their place as Fillory's most popular rulers for pretty much ever.

 

Quentin occasionally wondered how things would've turned out it he'd chosen Alice, whom he knew was going to be vital to their success, over his soulmates.

 

Then he looked around at his children, his family, their kingdom, and decided he didn't want to know.

 

 

 


End file.
